


Deception (Transformation #1)

by Dusk Peterson (duskpeterson), duskpeterson



Series: The Eternal Dungeon [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1880s, Alternate Universe - 1880s, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Original, Alternate Universe - Prison, Dungeons, Ethical Issues, F/M, Feminism, Gen, Het, M/M, Mentally Ill Character(s), Multi, Original Fiction, Original Het, Prisonfic, Queer Character(s), Romance, Slash, abuse issues, criminals, don't need to read other stories in the series, gen - Freeform, original gen (subplot), original slash (subplot)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/duskpeterson
Summary: "Weldon could not remember the last time he had met a prisoner who seemed delighted to be questioned by him."He thought she had come to change his workplace. He found she was there to change his life.Still pained by the loss of an old love, Weldon Chapman has his life complicated by an order to question a prisoner with a mysterious past. That she is also a discerning woman seems unimportant at first. Having worked for many years in a prison where he is forbidden to marry, Weldon has long since reconciled himself to the fact that his relations with female prisoners must remain strictly professional.But Weldon is about to learn that his own past is as much a mystery as his prisoner's . . . and that his prisoner holds the key which will open the door to that mystery.Boilerplate warning for all my stories + my rating system.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character & Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Eternal Dungeon [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/15843
Kudos: 2
Collections: A Whisper to the  Dark Side, Chains: The Powerfic Archive, Female Characters Deserve Better, Focus on Female Characters, Historical Fic, Queer Characters Collection, Women being awesome





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**Author's note:** This is the first story in _Transformation _, the second volume in the Eternal Dungeon series. You don't need to read the other stories in the series to understand this one._

**=== _Transformation_ ===**  


> O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.
> 
> Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off. 
> 
> Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways. 
> 
> For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether. 
> 
> Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me. 
> 
> Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it. 
> 
> Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? 
> 
> If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. 
> 
> If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; 
> 
> Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. 
> 
> If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. 
> 
> Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee. 
> 
> —Psalm 139:1-12 (King James Version).

  
**_Transformation_ #1**  
**DECEPTION**

_The year 357, the sixth month. (The year 1880 Fallow by the Old Calendar.)_  


Every psychologist of our day knows the origin of transformation therapy, though many prefer not to speak of it. It is considered embarrassing to be forced to admit that your primary tool for curing patients was developed by a group of torturers. 

In popular tales told about the Golden Age of the Eternal Dungeon, it is often said that the method of transforming twisted criminals into human beings of healthy spirit was developed by a single, particularly talented torturer. Of course, the truth is far more complex. Many torturers – or "Seekers," as torturers in the Golden Age preferred to call themselves – contributed to the principles of transformation therapy. Indeed, it is likely that our debt to most of the Seekers has been obscured by the loss of records over time. We who work in the modern profession of psychology will never fully know what courageous acts were committed to bring about the development of transformation therapy. Therefore, we will never fully know what we owe the men who worked in the Eternal Dungeon . . . 

— _Psychologists with Whips: A History of the Eternal Dungeon._  


**CHAPTER ONE**

The common room was filled with dozens of Seekers and guards, all trying to avoid looking at the man in the back of the room. 

Weldon Chapman, pausing at the doorway to check that the face-cloth of his hood was properly closed, surveyed the scene. The ploys that the men in the room were using to disguise their interest were various: a cup of beer held before the face, an absorbed study of a chessboard, and of course, in the case of the Seekers, the device they used with their prisoners – they simply kept the face-cloths of their hoods down, as their duty required. 

Weldon doubted that the man at the back of the room was fooled by any of this. Indeed, even Weldon, without that man's skill, could see the tension in the onlookers' bodies, the flickered glances, the tight gestures, and the occasional twitch from someone who had let his nightmares become too vivid. 

Weldon sighed, and then turned his attention to the one man in the room who was making no pretense of being interested in anything except the figure in the back. As Weldon watched, Elsdon Taylor flung down the playing cards he had been holding, said something to the other junior Seekers sharing his table, and left amidst their nervous laughter. 

He did not, as Weldon had expected, go straight to the man in the back; he simply lifted his hand toward that man. The man, who was resting with his face turned upward toward the sunlight that filtered through the crystalline ceiling of the common room, and who gave every appearance of being asleep, raised his hand in exchange. Around the common room, there was a visible shudder at this evidence of the High Seeker's skill. 

"There is something particularly frightening about having a genius go mad." 

Weldon tore his eyes away from Layle Smith in order to look over at the High Seeker's love-mate, Elsdon Taylor. The skin around Elsdon's eyes was smudged with darkness – Weldon wondered how many months it had been since Elsdon had received a full shift's sleep – but otherwise the young man looked less weighed down than he had since his present trials began. 

Weldon took hope from that, and from Elsdon's dark jibe. He knew better than to worry the High Seeker's love-mate with questions, though, so he simply said, "I was trying to decide whether I should bother him with work." 

Elsdon glanced over his shoulder at the man lying motionless in his chair. "Do," he said, in the same soft voice with which he had spoken before. "If anything would make him go mad again, it's having nothing to do except documentwork. If you have a challenge for him, he'd welcome it." 

"He ought to be back at work with the prisoners." 

Elsdon sighed. "So I tell him. So the Codifier tells him. So the _Queen_ tells him. Honest in my heart, Weldon, if the torture-god of Layle's native land came and threatened to rack him eternally unless he returned to work, Layle would simply repeat that he is not yet ready to place the prisoners at risk." 

"Mm." Weldon stared down at the papers he was holding in his hand. "Perhaps I can persuade him otherwise. Are you leaving for bed now?" 

Elsdon shook his head. "Not till he does. He doesn't yet trust himself that much." 

Glancing once more at the men in the common room – who were now dividing their time between casting nervous glances at the High Seeker and casting curious glances at his love-mate – Weldon thought to himself that nothing could have made more apparent to the world the seriousness of Layle Smith's illness than the fact that the High Seeker felt the need for a chaperone. The fact that no such chaperone was necessary could not be known by the others. Weldon frowned. 

"What your love-mate needs," he says, "is a stiffening of the backbone. He needs to be reminded that he is not a child, and that he owes responsibilities to the dungeon he runs." 

Elsdon gave a crow of such pure delight that every head in the room swivelled to look at him. Elsdon ignored them, thumping Weldon on the back. "Oh, brave one," he said. "You should have been a soldier. I'll watch the battle from a distance. From a safe distance," he added with a grin in his voice. 

"Fortunate man," Weldon muttered and walked toward the man at the back. 

Whether or not the High Seeker's acute hearing had picked up the gist of the conversation, Weldon could be quite sure that Layle Smith knew from Elsdon's cry of joy that an attack was about to begin. The High Seeker gave no sign that he was about to strike back. Of course, he never did. Many a prisoner had learned that, when it was too late. 

The common room was a newer room in the Eternal Dungeon, built at a time when one of Layle's predecessors had grown so tired of his confinement within the bleak walls of the underground cave that he had ordered a leisure place built that would provide sunlight to the Seekers who were otherwise deprived of daylight for the remainder of the lives. Weldon, whose own vow as a Seeker had come relatively late in life, nevertheless felt his limbs relax as the warmth of the early morning sun fell upon his shoulders. It was midsummer now – he knew that from the calendar posted by the dungeon's Record-keeper for the sake of Seekers who might otherwise forget what season it was. Summertime always made Weldon remember the last time he had been in the lighted world. The joy he had felt on that final day – the knowledge that he was about to receive a privilege that any prison worker in the Queendom of Yclau would have envied – had been as pure and unadulterated as the blue sky above him. 

He had met Layle by that time. He sometimes wondered whether the joy he had felt at becoming a Seeker had been connected with the knowledge that he would be able to speak daily with a talented young Seeker by the name of Layle Smith. 

That was thirteen years ago. Now Layle was thirty-seven, Weldon was forty-seven, and the High Seeker lay motionless in his chair, as though dead. 

"Sir," Weldon said formally. 

"Mr. Chapman," the High Seeker replied without opening his eyes. "Tell me, are you bothered by nightmares?" 

Weldon had to stop himself from looking over at one of the men who had twitched. "Not overly much, sir," he responded. "Why?" 

"I am glad to hear that. Mr. Taylor was a victim of some very bad nightmares several months ago, when my condition was more serious. Now that I am slowly healing he is, of course, feeling much better. I remain confident that the nightmares will not return . . . provided that no one is so foolish as to try to hurry my cure beyond the point for which my mind is ready." 

Weldon was still a moment. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down heavily in it. "High Seeker," he said, "I wonder why the Record-keeper bothers to assign prisoners to anyone besides you. If he sent all the criminals your way, the Eternal Dungeon would have a perfect record of breaking prisoners." 

He thought he saw the faintest crease of amusement at the corner of Layle Smith's eyes as the High Seeker lifted his hooded head. "Since I am not seeing prisoners at the moment, the matter is moot. You wished to speak to me about another matter?" 

Weldon wordlessly gestured to the papers in his lap. Layle glanced at the name written atop them and said, "Ah, yes. The Record-keeper does like to assign you the hard cases." 

"The Record-keeper," said Weldon carefully, "is under the misapprehension that, since I dwelt so many years in the lighted world, I am privy to its secrets." 

"You have dealt with difficult prisoners before." 

"Not prisoners who confess that they have committed a 'most terrible crime,' but refuse to state what that crime is." 

"Mm." The High Seeker leaned back in his chair. His gaze had not strayed from Weldon throughout the conversation, though from where Weldon sat, he could see that Elsdon had seated himself at an empty table nearby, out of earshot, and was busy scribbling with a pen. 

Weldon flipped through his own papers for a moment before he found the one he wanted, with the High Seeker's initials in the corner to indicate that he had read it. He held it up for Layle's inspection. 

For the second time, the suggestion of a smile appeared in Layle's eyes. "At least she was honest. Women who apply to be Seekers usually sign only their initials, not their full names. I sent her a polite note, explaining that she did not possess the quality we desire most in a Seeker. It is what I tell nearly all of our applicants." 

"She is not the best candidate to be a Seeker if she commits a crime soon after you have rejected her application." 

Layle said nothing, but the smile in his eyes increased. 

Weldon felt his spirits lift accordingly. "You think she is innocent of any crime? That this is a ploy to visit the Eternal Dungeon?" 

"A ploy to see me. She asked for me specifically when she was delivered here by her local prison." 

"So I had heard. Perhaps it would be better, then, if you took this case." 

Layle's gaze shot away from the paper. His smile disappeared, like warmth dissipating with the coming of evening. 

"Sir," Weldon said quietly as he placed the paper back on his lap, "I know what you want me to say. But the best interests of the prisoner come first, and having reviewed the prisoner's records, I believe that it is in her best interests to be searched by you. If I search her, nothing will happen except that she will stall and refuse to speak until you come. That would be a waste of time I could spend with a prisoner who has actually committed a crime." 

Layle's eye wandered away from Weldon, skimming the crowd of men that sat drinking, playing leisure games, and talking. "No doubt you will find a way around this problem." 

"But, sir, you need only spend a few minutes—" 

"No." 

"Sir, if you will only listen to what I have to—" 

_"I cannot visit your prisoner!"_

Once, when Weldon was considerably younger, he had awoken screaming from a vision of being sliced in half by the High Seeker's whip. It was but a nightmare, of course; Layle Smith had not carried a whip since his arrival at the Eternal Dungeon. 

This was a worse nightmare. Weldon tried without success to remember the last time he had heard the High Seeker raise his voice. He tried to reply, but could not; he tried to move, but could not. He was trapped in place as effectively as a chained prisoner by the sight of the High Seeker, one yard from him, beginning to shake. 

Weldon managed to tear his gaze away to look at the rest of the room. What he saw was like a battlefield after a cannon had been shot through it. Chairs were overturned; some of the chairs' owners were standing frozen in place, but others were missing, and Weldon guessed that a stream of guards and Seekers was presently fleeing down the hallway that led from the common room to the inner dungeon. Where they thought they could flee to, Weldon could not imagine. The guards, perhaps, were seeking the main exit to the lighted world, but the Seekers had no such option open to them, being bound by their oaths to remain in the dungeon. 

Other signs of terror lay before him: broken glasses, overspilled wine, and chess pieces and cards lying still upon the floor. A shadow moved behind the bar counter, and Weldon guessed that the guard taking bar-tending duty today must have ducked down, in hopes that his presence would be forgotten. From the expressions on the faces of the other guards in the room, it was clear that they would have liked to join him, while the Seekers – normally the most imperturbable of men – were turning their heads toward each other, obviously uncertain what to do. 

Only one man in the room did not hesitate. As Weldon watched, Elsdon walked forward, pen and papers in hand, and knelt next to the High Seeker's chair. 

For a moment, Weldon could have cursed the young man for emphasizing to Layle his infirmity. But he underestimated the junior Seeker; Elsdon held out his papers and said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but I need these initialled. Could I bother you?" 

Layle took the pen from him in an automatic manner and flipped through the papers, reading them rapidly. Weldon, stealing a glance at the papers, saw that they were routine documents which could easily have waited until Layle was on duty again. He turned his gaze to Elsdon and saw that the kneeling Seeker had his eyes fixed upon Layle. For a brief moment, Weldon felt pain go through him, as cutting as a lash. Then he switched his attention back to the High Seeker. 

Layle had finished initialling all the pages, and his hand was now steady. He gave back the papers and pen, saying quietly, "Thank you, Mr. Taylor." 

Elsdon nodded without spoken reply, gave Weldon an impenetrable glance, and returned to his seat, where he calmly continued writing where he had left off. 

Weldon could actually hear the sigh of the crowd as the men began to pick up the mess around them. Two or three guards, shamefaced, returned to the room. The bartender emerged from his hiding place holding a shattered mug, as though his only purpose in diving to the floor had been to help with the clean-up. 

Layle pretended not to notice any of this. He said, in the same low voice as before, "Mr. Chapman, I trust I need not remind you of what event took place in this dungeon nine years ago, and what restriction was placed upon me following that event." 

Weldon felt a hot blush cover his skin, from forehead to toes. "I am sorry, sir. It has been many years—" 

"The restriction still applies. Naturally, the Codifier would permit me to visit your prisoner if he considered it necessary for the welfare of this dungeon, but I see no reason to request his permission. You have the experience necessary to break this prisoner." 

"Yes, sir," Weldon murmured, casting a glance at the shambles nearby. Amidst the quiet storm of the clean-up operation, Elsdon sat like a rock, scribbling upon his papers. 

Noting the direction of Weldon's gaze, Layle said, "I am afraid that Mr. Taylor has his own difficult prisoner to deal with at the moment. His prisoner has spun a web of self-deception that has tangled his soul. Regardless of whether the man has committed a crime, he requires Mr. Taylor's help." 

Weldon did his best to gather his wits together, like an apprentice trying to chase down a ball of sinew-yarn that he has dropped. "Of course, sir. In any case, female prisoners are my specialty." 

"I had not forgotten that. I am sure you remember this, but I will repeat the rules by which you abide: Ask the prisoner if she wants a chaperone present while you search her. If she prefers that you search her privately, be sure to have a guard keep an eye on you through the watch-hole every moment that you are inside the cell. The last thing I need is for one of my Seekers to be arrested upon a false charge of rape." 

Weldon could think of nothing to reply to this, so he nodded. He found himself saying, though, "I am tempted to ask the Record-keeper to give me another prisoner." 

Layle raised his eyebrows, but said only, "Well, you would have free choice. There are half a dozen prisoners awaiting Seekers at the moment." 

"That many?" Weldon could not keep surprise from his voice. Usually new prisoners were assigned a Seeker immediately, since the period following their arrest was the time in which they were most vulnerable and therefore most likely to confess to any crime they might have committed. 

Layle gave a brief nod. "We are rather short of Seekers at the moment, what with so many senior Seekers retiring or taking healing leave." He reached over to the table that stood between himself and Weldon and lifted his wine cup to his lips, draining it of its dregs. 

Watching him, Weldon found he was cursing himself inwardly. It could not be at all easy for Layle, knowing that prisoners were languishing without Seekers while he himself, the most talented Seeker in the dungeon, was spending his days doing documentwork. Only a very strong conviction that it would be dangerous for him to go near prisoners could have kept Layle from rushing back to work and breaking all six prisoners in quick succession. The man must be in agony now, pulled between two calls of duty, and Weldon had made the matter no easier for him. 

In an attempt to lighten Layle's mood, Weldon forced a chuckle and said, "Perhaps you should train my prisoner to be a Seeker after all." 

Layle gave a snort of what might have been laughter, but said seriously, "Not if you put me on a Vovimian rack and set the wheel to the thirtieth level. I would rather run this dungeon with only one Seeker than allow an ill-qualified Seeker into a cell with a prisoner." 

Weldon nodded slowly; he knew what Layle meant. They had both been in the Eternal Dungeon – Layle as a Seeker, Weldon as a guard – when Layle's predecessor, faced with a similar crisis of waiting prisoners, had allowed a new Seeker to take his vow of eternal confinement after only one month's training. As it turned out, the man was talented in certain respects but did not possess the quality that, as Layle had put it a while ago, "we desire most in a Seeker." And after the new Seeker had spent a week with one of the prisoners who had been waiting to be searched . . . 

Changes were made after that. Strict rules were instituted, requiring a minimum of six months of training from new Seekers before they took their vows of eternal confinement. The offending Seeker, unable to be released from his oath, made matters easier for everyone by expressing a desire to spend the remainder of his life working in the outer dungeon, where he would not have contact with prisoners. Most importantly, greater precautions were taken to ensure that no prisoner would have the means to kill himself. But Weldon, who had guarded the prisoner, still visited the dungeon's crematorium every few months and lit a candle for the prisoner, hoping that the prisoner was receiving greater mercy in his new life than he had received in his old. 

He still wondered whether he could have prevented the tragedy, and guilt still touched him late at night. He could only imagine the weight of guilt that Layle's predecessor must have felt until his death two years later. Weldon could well suppose that Layle, already heavily burdened with guilt over other matters, would not want to take the chance of allowing anyone to become a Seeker-in-Training unless that person had shown clearly that they possessed the quality which was absolutely necessary to a Seeker. 

"Have no worries, sir," Weldon said. "I think this prisoner will be easy to handle. I will deal with her quickly and then pass on to another prisoner." 

Layle's eyes touched his. They were green, like the trees Weldon had not seen in thirteen years, and their light touch was enough to bind Weldon to his place, half-risen from his seat. 

Then Layle released him, turning his eyes away. "I am sure you will do your best, Mr. Chapman." 

His voice was cool and dismissive. Sometimes Weldon wondered whether his memories of another voice – a voice young and uncertain, filled with hopes that would be dashed shortly thereafter – had come from his own imagination. 

He nearly knelt – childhood habits died hard – but caught himself in time and nodded his farewell instead. He walked his way to the door of the common room, ignoring the stares of the men wondering what he had done to bring the High Seeker so close to madness again.


	2. Chapter 2

"You worked at Parkside Prison?" said Weldon, unable to hide his surprise. 

The prisoner smiled. "Not officially," she said. "Did you work there, before you came here?" 

"Me?" Weldon gave a sharp laugh. "Not in the least. If I had worked at any of the lesser prisons, it would have been at Alleyway Prison." 

The prisoner looked puzzled for a moment; then she too laughed, in an easy manner. "Of course," she said. "I thought there was something odd about your accent. You have risen far in the world." 

"Indeed." Weldon was watching her closely as he spoke, scrutinizing her for signs of how this news would affect her. He had never tried to hide this fact of his past from anyone, for he had found over the years that the knowledge of it usually had one of two effects on his prisoners. If the prisoner was high-born, he was likely to be highly offended to learn that he was being searched by a man who had been born a commoner. If the prisoner was also low-born, he was likely to be jealous. In either case, Weldon knew how to handle the matter. 

Weldon could not remember the last time he had met a prisoner of high birth who seemed delighted to be searched by a Seeker of common origins. "Are there many people with your background working in the dungeon?" she asked. 

He shook his head. "Not in the inner dungeon," he said. "Not among the guards and Seekers. I started work here in the outer dungeon, whose workers help to keep the Eternal Dungeon alive with food and fuel and other such services. It is fairly common for guards to rise to the position of Seeker, but I know of no other cases where an outer dungeon worker has become a guard and then a Seeker." 

He let his eyes rest lightly upon her as he spoke. He could guess that she was asking this question because she wished to know whether the Eternal Dungeon was idiosyncratic in its method of hiring. In truth it was, a fact more due to the character of the High Seeker than to any rules enshrined in the _Code of Seeking_. But Weldon did not wish to raise false expectations in the prisoner. 

"You have women working here? I thought I heard a woman's voice in the corridor." 

Weldon suppressed a smile at this direct question. "Not in the inner dungeon. Many of the outer dungeon workers are women – you must have heard one of our cleaning women." 

"Ah." The prisoner showed no sign of disappointment. "Yes, it is like that at Parkside Prison too. Women are welcome in the outer areas of the prison, but they are not permitted to have contact with the prisoners." 

"Mistress . . ." He hesitated. 

"Birdesmond," she supplied. 

"I thought you might prefer to be referred to as Mistress Manx." 

She smiled again. "I would if I were a man. But as you can see, I am a woman." 

"Mm." Weldon tried not to let his eye roam; he had learned long ago that this made female prisoners understandably nervous. 

Having deliberately avoided the portion of Birdesmond Manx's records that gave her personal information, such as her date of birth, he had drawn two competing images in his mind of what she would look like. One image was of a scrawny girl, still at the age of sexlessness and confusion over what it means to be a woman. The other image, more sinister, had been of a mannish spinster, loud and aggressive, demanding to be called by her family name as though she were a man, and undoubtedly wearing bloomers. 

The prisoner before him fit neither of these images. She was a soft-spoken, attractive woman in her early thirties, with her hair swept onto her head in a manner that emphasized rather than detracted from her femininity. In accordance with the customs of the Eternal Dungeon, she had been permitted to keep her own clothing, and in accordance with the customary treatment of female prisoners, her body had not been searched. The latter custom had once resulted in Weldon being stabbed by a concealed knife, and he found his gaze flicking down toward the dress that might conceal anything. It too was utterly feminine, with its tight waist and ballooning skirt and high collar. The only concession to comfort seemed to be the dress's cloth, which was a practical flannel, and the low-heeled boots, which Weldon had noticed briefly when Mistress Birdesmond curtsied politely upon his entrance. 

It was just as well concerning the boots, as she had refused Weldon's offer to take a seat, a courtesy only offered to female prisoners. Weldon wondered whether she was trying to prove that she was as strong as a man. Manifestly, she was not: her frame was slight, and he could easily overpower her if she became violent. 

Not that he would do so except in the most extreme circumstances; the Code declared that such matters must be left to the guards. For this reason, Seekers were hired for their mental powers, not their bodily strength. Weldon hoped that Birdesmond did not know this. 

"You were speaking of Parkside Prison," he prompted. 

"Yes, well . . . Commoners are not so absent from that prison as you might think, Mr. Chapman. It is true that its officials and guards are high-born, but most of the prisoners are commoners – servants from households in the Parkside district." 

Weldon raised his eyebrows. "The rich in Parkside do not commit crimes?" 

"The rich have money to bribe the soldiers to overlook their crimes," she replied tartly. "And alas, the rich have the influence to persuade prison officials to take different courses of action with their prisoners. . . . Many years ago, I had a maidservant whose man was arrested on a charge of petty thievery. She begged me to go to the head of the prison and intervene on her man's behalf, as she feared he would be dealt with harshly. I accompanied her to the prison and was appalled by what I saw there: dozens of families crammed into the outside room, waiting to see the prisoners or to plead on their behalf. No attempt had been made to provide proper waiting space for these people. Any high-born visitor was ushered immediately into the keeper's office, but the common folk were required to sit on the floor, with no access to water or other such comforts. Babies were screaming, young women were weeping, and the guards took no notice of any of them, except to kick them out of the way when new prisoners arrived. 

"It was as though I had stumbled upon the scene of a great fire or flood. I had no idea what to do first. Ignoring the protests of the guards, who wanted to draw me from this room as quickly as possible, I sat down and minded the babies and comforted the young women and talked with the older women. The next time I came, I made sure I was supplied with plenty of food and water, until, after several weeks of this, the prison officials were shamed into providing somewhat better facilities for the prisoners' families." 

"I should imagine your work would have been done then." Weldon was trying to react to this recital with a mildly interested expression, as though he had never heard such a tale before. In fact, much of this story had been told in Birdesmond's application to become a Seeker. In reading the account, Weldon had been unable to make up his mind whether the writer had been motivated by naïveté or by a desire to bully the prison officials. Now he recognized, from the matter-of-fact tone of her voice, that Birdesmond was simply practical. She had done what she thought needed to be done, in the unfussed manner of a competent nurse or schoolmistress. 

A slow smile curled its way onto Birdesmond's lips. "I suppose it would have been, if I had not heard by then the stories of the families and realized how much remained to be done." 

The rest of the tale was easily told: Birdesmond's unplanned journey to becoming the confidante of the prisoners' families, the person that the women and children turned to and told their secrets to, certain that she would not betray their best interests, even if she believed that what their menfolk had done was wrong. Gradually Birdesmond came to believe that she could have equal success in persuading the prisoners to confide in her – better success at least than the prison workers, whose harsh indifference to the prisoners' fates invariably elicited nothing more than terrified lies or cynical evasions. 

"I had the opportunity to test this theory," she said. "My uncle's manservant was arrested for arson soon thereafter. My uncle was convinced that another man had committed the crime, and he persuaded the prison officials, over their better judgment, to release the manservant and arrange for the arrest of the other man. But I was sure that the manservant had done the deed. I talked to him and was able to make him see that it would be wrong for him to let another man suffer imprisonment for his own crime. . . . The manservant's self-deception as to what he had done lay deep; it took many days of talk between us before I could begin to reach the core of the lies he had used to shield himself from his pain, and to help him find a way toward healing himself. It troubles me that no one in the place where he is now imprisoned is willing to help him transform himself, but he and I continue to correspond, and I am convinced that he is better off where he is now than he would have been if he had continued his life of self-deception. Certainly the innocent man who was released is better off." 

Weldon paused a moment to see whether she would add protests that none of this was due to her own abilities, or whether, on the contrary, she would boast of her accomplishment. She did neither. Having told her tale in the briefest manner possible, she added, "I wanted very much to learn how to be better at this, and to find a way to help other men who had been arrested. But the officials at Parkside Prison would not permit me to work with the prisoners. Even if they had, I doubt that the workers there could have taught me anything more than I had figured out on my own." 

"And then you learned that such training was offered to Seekers," said Weldon. 

She smiled, saying nothing. 

"And committed a crime of your own," he added. 

Her smile did not waver; she nodded. "A most terrible crime." 

"I do not suppose you are yet ready to speak about that crime?" he said softly. 

"Not yet," she said. "No doubt I will in the end. But . . . Well, I am sure you have had reluctant prisoners before." 

Her smile was so engaging that Weldon could not forbear a chuckle. 

"Including women prisoners?" she asked. 

He gave her a sharp look to see whether she was being coquettish, but it appeared that she was not aiming to use her feminine powers against him. So he let the conversation travel down the path she wished; this was often the best way with prisoners who seemed likely to cooperate in the end. "Yes, this dungeon is one of only a select number of prisons in Yclau that is authorized to search prisoners who have committed death-sentence crimes. It takes special training to search prisoners who are likely to be violent, and we receive too few women to justify starting a second dungeon for female prisoners alone. So we find ways to cope with the difficulties of such prisoners." 

"Ah." Birdesmond seemed amused by his remark. Until now she had been holding her gloves in her ivory-skinned hands, lightly fingering the calfskin, but now she stuffed them into her skirt pocket and straightened, as though a turning point had arrived on the path. "Are the female prisoners assigned randomly to any Seeker who is available, or do you use another system to decide who will search female prisoners?" 

"Such matters are regulated by the _Code of Seeking_ , our book of rules and ethics," Weldon said, keeping his eye carefully upon her. "You have heard of it, I suppose?" 

"I have read it – I trust that is not a crime? I found a copy of it in my uncle's library." 

"Most of the Code is not a secret. However, the details supplied in the Code as to how its principles are implemented are not published or spoken of to outsiders. I am afraid I cannot answer your question." 

He waited to see her rage at him or to weep with frustration, but she only said quietly, "I apologize, sir. It was wrong of me to question you in any case; I am your prisoner." 

"Mm." Weldon scrutinized her, seeking signs that she was being sycophantic, but found none. Finally he said, "I do not mind questions, though I cannot answer all the ones you may ask. I can tell you that many of the female prisoners who arrive here are assigned to me." 

"Are you married?" 

He was taken aback by the question – not because it had been asked, for he had heard it many times over the years. Female prisoners always seemed to think they could tell something important about him if they knew whether he was a bachelor. However, the question usually came earlier in the searching than this. 

"No," he said. "Seekers are not permitted to marry. You may recall that is mentioned in the _Code of Seeking_." 

He hoped she would take this hint that she was ill-prepared to be a Seeker, but she said simply, "I fear I did not understand that portion of the Code. Why should it be wrong for a Seeker to be married?" 

Weldon could have sighed in relief. He should have guessed that this particular portion of the Code would prove a barrier to the attractive woman in front of him – indeed, he would have been surprised if it wasn't. The only surprise was that this lady was not yet married. "You are engaged?" he said. 

"I became engaged last winter," she said. She added with a smile, "I know I am old to be unwedded. The fates know that I have had plenty of suitors, but . . . Well, it is hard to find suitors who are willing to abide a woman whose deepest ambition is to be a prison worker. I have scared away quite a number of men by being honest with them." 

"I am glad you found one who was sensible," said Weldon. "I cannot see that there is anything wrong with wishing to help the outcasts of society – it is just a matter of discovering which work is best suited to one's abilities." 

He waited to see whether she would be riled by this gentle suggestion, but she simply nodded. "By becoming a nurse, for example." 

"Exactly." Weldon felt the prick of annoyance that always stabbed him when a prisoner proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated. This particular prisoner, it seemed, had already considered her various options. She was not proceeding on her chosen path out of ignorance. 

She had a look of polite interest on her face, and he remembered belatedly that she had asked a question. He said, "Since you are engaged, you will understand that two people who are bound together may suffer greatly if one of them is required to remain for a lifetime in a place that the other could leave at will and probably should leave at some point. For this reason, Yclau law forbids life prisoners from entering into marriages, even if circumstances should allow them to have temporary contact with their loves." 

"And as a Seeker, you are eternally confined," said Birdesmond, stealing the climax of his speech. 

She had, it seemed, read the _Code of Seeking_ quite carefully. "Yes," he replied. "We Seekers call ourselves prisoners, for that is what we are by law. We cannot leave this dungeon at any time in our lives except with special permission from the Codifier – our ethical supervisor – and that permission is almost never granted. This being the case, it would be wrong for us to take wives, since we would either have to bind them to similar imprisonment, or else condemn them to a separation at a later date. So anyone who wishes to become a Seeker must give up all hope of ever marrying." He looked pointedly at her. 

"I see," she replied. "I had gathered as much from the Code, but it is helpful to hear your explanation of it. Very helpful." She smiled. 

And with a jolt of the heart, Weldon recognized that smile. It was the smile of a Seeker who has just learned how he can break a prisoner. 

o—o—o

"She is trying to demonstrate her abilities to me," Weldon reported. "She wishes to show that she has the skills of a Seeker." 

Layle Smith nodded. He looked unsurprised. "It was the only reward she could gain by coming here, after all," he said. "She had already explained in her application why we should train her. Now she wishes to give us proof that such training will not be wasted." 

"You were her first choice for the witness to such a demonstration, I am sure," Weldon said. "She seems content for now to talk with me, however. How do you suggest I proceed, sir?" 

The High Seeker leaned back in his chair, his gaze lifting to the grey ceiling above. Dusk had arrived, in this period between the end of the day shift and the beginning of the night shift. Elsdon, who was assigned to the night shift, was scooping up the playing cards on his table, readying himself for work. Weldon had not bothered to sit down, knowing that the High Seeker would leave this room when Elsdon did, though Layle would secrete himself in his Seeker's cell while Elsdon was away. 

"The decision is yours," Layle said finally. "But if you wish my advice . . . Let her play her game. I think she will quickly find that the game is not so easy as she thought, particularly if you are to be her prisoner. Do you know what crime she plans to search you for?" 

"Abusing my prisoners, I think. She has hinted at concern for the female prisoners here." 

"Has she?" Layle's eyes wandered away from the crystalline ceiling above, to rest upon Weldon. 

"Yes," said Weldon, narrowing his eyes to try to read the High Seeker's gaze. It was the most useless exercise he had undertaken in a long time: the High Seeker revealed nothing he did not wish to be revealed. "Is that important?" 

"It is of passing interest. I must go, Mr. Chapman." 

Weldon turned and saw that Elsdon had reached the doorway and was looking back, waiting for Layle. This too was a game – a delicate game Elsdon played in order to pretend that the High Seeker, not he, was the one in charge of their relationship. Elsdon would never humiliate his love-mate by simply ordering him out of the room; in public, at least, he always gave the appearance of being Layle's subordinate. 

And now Weldon must play the same game with his prisoner. He sighed. Really, he wondered whether he should request that no more female prisoners be assigned to him. At least with male prisoners he had a fighting chance of understanding how their minds worked.


	3. Chapter 3

He arrived the next morning to find Birdesmond lying upon the floor, turned on her side toward the far end of the cell wall. 

For a moment, he thought the worst had happened, and he opened his mouth to shout for his guards to fetch the dungeon healer. Then Birdesmond rolled over onto her stomach and turned her head. She was smiling. 

"This is marvellous!" she said, struggling up onto her hands and knees. "Simply marvellous!" 

"What is?" asked Weldon, who was having to resist the impulse to rush forward and help her to her feet. 

"This wall," she said, rising to her feet. The right side and front of her dress was now covered with grey dust, as was her hair. "Do you know, it took me two whole days to understand what you had done here? I honestly thought at first that it was a magic lantern display, used to decorate the room. Instead . . . What a sophisticated way to bring heat and light to a cell! To use glass blocks and place the fire _beyond_ the cell – I never would have thought of it." 

Weldon was silent, regarding her bedraggled appearance. If this event had occurred on their first meeting, he would have described her behavior as unfeminine, the sort of behavior that one could expect from a woman whose ambition was to be a Seeker. But now . . . She was beginning to brush the dust off her dress in small, ladylike gestures. 

He had spent the night trying to remember all the reasons why he and other men he knew had laughed at the idea that women should become Seekers. Women were too moody – they would cry or storm the first time a prisoner opposed them. Women were too tender – they would never have the strength of mind to order a prisoner to be punished. Women were too frail – the very sight of them would cause a prisoner to become defiant and dangerous. 

Pairing all those reasons with the women he had known in his life, Weldon began to wonder why he had ever believed such tales. They did not match many of the women he had known over the years, and they most certainly did not match this lady. 

He had fallen asleep not long after that, and had spent the night dreaming of darkness and a missing door. When he awoke exhausted the next morning, his only thought had been the clear understanding that, in the end, there remained one immutable reason to reject an applicant for the position of Seeker: the applicant must be rejected if he did not possess the quality that was absolutely necessary in a Seeker. And this applicant did not. That was reason enough to send her away, without worrying about whether her gender made her unsuitable for the work. 

He wondered how he would break the news to her. This was going to be less easy than he had thought. 

He stepped forward just as Birdesmond pulled from her seemingly bottomless pocket a small, jeweled comb. Weldon eyed it suspiciously, but its tines did not look sharp enough to use as a weapon, either against him or against herself. She paused in the midst of putting the comb to her hair, looking at the note-card Weldon proffered. She took the note from him, and Weldon hastily withdrew his hand, lest he accidentally touch her. 

"Do you see what that is?" he asked, withdrawing several paces. 

She held the note up so that the light streaming into the cell from the furnace beyond fell square upon the note. "It appears to be a letter from your Codifier, granting you permission to sit in the presence of your prisoner." 

"Indeed. Now will you _please_ sit down?" 

As he spoke, he seated himself at the end of the man-length bench, as close to the door end of the cell as he could manage. Birdesmond, laughing, sat down at the other end. She raised the comb to her hair again and began combing out the dust in long, slow strokes. 

Watching her, Weldon was grateful again, as he had been many times over the years, that he was a man of enough self-control that he could be immune to such sights when searching female prisoners. Given the manner in which the High Seeker had been tormented many times over the years, by the presence of both male and female prisoners, Weldon had no desire to fulfill any of the sickly ballads about Seekers acquiring passion for their prisoners. 

She had finished combing her hair and was now brushing off her skirt again. Watching her, Weldon asked abruptly, "What does your family think of your ambitions?" 

She looked up. A dimple had appeared in her cheek. "Oh," she said, "I think the closest my parents ever came to reconciling themselves to my dreams is when my mother suggested that, if I tended an innocent high-born prisoner, we might fall in love with one another and marry." 

Weldon gave a chuckle and then said, "They are concerned for your safety, no doubt. Prison work can be exceedingly dangerous." 

Birdesmond nodded, accepting this statement. "As can nursing. Many of the nurses, you know, work near the battlefields and undergo danger alongside the soldiers. I used to envy them when I heard tales of them as a child." 

Weldon was tempted then to search her to see how deep this surface courage extended. But Layle had suggested letting Birdesmond take control of the conversation, and Layle was rarely wrong in his instincts. So Weldon contented himself with asking, "And your fiancé? How does he feel about you working in prisons?" 

"Ah." Birdesmond's gaze wandered away as she glanced back at the far end of the cell, with its flames leaping up from the pit below ground level. "Well, I was fortunate to find him. He has encouraged me to visit Parkside Prison – he says that he can think of no better way for a lady to spend her days than by acting in charity toward less fortunate women and children." 

"And your ambition to be a Seeker? Does he approve of that as well?" 

Birdesmond looked back; her smile was strained. "We have quarrelled about that, I admit." 

Her voice was strained too. Weldon suggested gently, "Perhaps he too is concerned about the danger to you. Or perhaps he is simply upset because he knows that you will not be able to marry him if you become a Seeker." 

"Perhaps, but that is not the reason he has given for his opposition. He says that no lady would want to work amongst vile criminals – unless, that is, she wished to do so out of immoral desires." 

Weldon had to bite back the cry of outrage that rose to his lips. After a minute he said, "Men often speak in anger when they feel threatened. I trust that your fiancé will come to see that your ambition, whether wise or unwise, arises out of pure motives." 

"Oh, we have already come to an understanding," she said lightly. "And what of you, Mr. Chapman? Is your family glad that you became a Seeker?" 

He was silent a moment. This was not a subject he often spoke of, even to his friends. Finally he said quietly, "My parents are dead. They died in the Commoners' Bread Riot of 339." 

Birdesmond was silent a long while before saying softly, "I am sorry. . . . And brothers and sisters? Do you have any?" 

He shook himself away from the darkness of his memories. "Two sisters who were married before I was born. I never knew them well. I had five older brothers, but . . . Well, they all died as babies. It was due to malnutrition, I think – our family was always on the edge of starvation. I nearly died as well, and my parents valued me all the more for being the only surviving son." 

"You were close to them, then?" 

Weldon turned his head toward Birdesmond. She was sitting quietly now, her gaze steady upon him; the comb lay abandoned upon her lap. Weldon found himself wondering how she had learned to question prisoners first about their family background. This method of searching was not mentioned in the _Code of Seeking_ , either in the public editions or the private one. It was simply a tip that had been passed from generation to generation of the torturers working in the Eternal Dungeon. It was the best way to proceed with cooperative prisoners: to learn as much as you could about their family background before launching upon a more narrow search of whether they had committed a crime. Small clues learned while talking about a prisoner's early years could be put to use once the serious searching began. 

Weldon was tempted to push her question aside; of all the subjects he would have chosen to talk about, his parents were at the bottom of the list. They were too painful a subject. But, he thought, looking at Birdesmond's steady gaze, perhaps that was why she had chosen to ask him about them. A Seeker, after all, must sometimes apply pain in order to begin a prisoner's breaking. If she had read the _Code of Seeking_ , she knew that. 

Weldon began to wish that Layle had given him different advice on how to handle Birdesmond. But Weldon remembered his oath. No one said that the life of a Seeker was supposed to be easy and pain-free. Taking in a deep breath, he said, "Even after all these years, I have never met anyone I admire as much as my parents. They lived amidst immorality and crime, yet they rose above it. They taught me that living a life that will lead to a quick rebirth is not a matter of riches or poverty, but a matter of a person's strength of will. And above all, they taught me about love. They were so much in love with one another – it flowed out of them. They taught me that love is the highest gift a person can give, and that any person who cannot love cannot truly be called human. . . . Theirs was the highest love, the love of self-sacrifice. Their passion for one another— Well, it was the stuff of ballads. They would have died for each other—" 

He stopped abruptly. Birdesmond asked softly, "Is that how they died?" 

It was several moments before he was able to speak again. Then he said in a voice made gruff by pain, "They died for me." 

He turned his gaze to the ground. This would not have been wise if he were with a male prisoner, but with a guard at the watch-hole, he thought he could take the chance. It took him another moment to clear his throat so that he could speak again. "I had the early shift at the manufactory where my father and I worked, and I had just set out for work when the protestors came marching down our street, crying out against the rise in bread prices. They were headed for the palace, where they planned to petition the Queen. It was meant to be a peaceful protest; some of the men had brought their wives and children with them. But my parents were worried about me getting caught up in an unlawful protest. 

"I had not noticed the protestors; my back was to them, and though their noise was loud, I was absorbed in thoughts of a recently failed courtship. My parents rushed onto the street to alert me to what was happening, and then— Well, then the horsemen arrived." 

Birdesmond said nothing. She would have been in school when it happened, Weldon thought, or more likely at home, being privately tutored. He wondered what high-born children were taught about the riot. 

He continued, "I turned round and saw my parents and the protestors at the same moment that the horsemen appeared at the end of the street, behind the protestors. A woman screamed, and I heard a man shout, 'They'll kill us all!' I could not believe it at first. I was sure that the soldiers would simply order the protestors to disperse. But the horsemen did not hesitate: they charged right into the crowd, their sabers unsheathed. 

"Some of the male protestors had pistols hidden in their clothing; that is when the shooting began. After the horsemen charged, not before. I remember little of what happened next. I must have picked up a saber that was dropped by a dead soldier; I remember swinging it toward a horseman in an attempt to keep him from slashing down at my mother. There was blood on the saber afterwards. The horse reared, and its hoof struck my mother in the forehead. . . . My father was separated from us in the panic. I learned later that one of the soldiers killed him." 

Still Birdesmond did not speak. Faintly, the fire in the furnace roared behind her. From behind Weldon, the guard at the watch-hole coughed softly. Weldon hoped that his own voice was low enough that the guard could not hear what he was saying. He did not wish this tale circulated as gossip in the dungeon. 

"A third of the protestors died – men, women, and children. The rest escaped or were arrested. Six of the protestors were sent to the Eternal Dungeon, to serve as an example through their executions." 

"And you were one of them." Birdesmond's voice remained soft. 

Weldon flicked a glance at her, and then turned his gaze back to the ground. "I was the first to be placed on trial. The Queen's courtiers were exultant. They had invited all of the pressmen in the city to cover the trial – foreign reporters as well as Yclau ones – so that everyone could witness my humiliation. And then, to their consternation, the Seeker in charge of me gave witness that he believed I was telling the truth when I said that we had been attacked without provocation. To make matters worse, the Seeker brought forward the testimonies of the other five prisoners who had been searched in the Eternal Dungeon. All of the testimonies, made independently, corroborated one another. The magistrate had no choice but to rule that I had acted in self-defense and to order my release. And the pressmen – even many of the Yclau reporters – went home and wrote gleeful reports of how the Queen's courtiers had been humiliated by the Eternal Dungeon. . . . The courtiers were livid. There was talk at the time that my Seeker would be placed on trial for his life, for treachery to the Queen." 

"And was he?" 

"No," said Weldon, a smile touching his lips. "A few years later, the Queen made him High Seeker." 

He looked up in time to see that Birdesmond was smiling too. "Ah," she said. "I have heard many tales about Layle Smith." 

"Ill ones, no doubt." 

"And good ones, too. It intrigued me, how he seems to be equally gifted at acquiring tales that portray him as a dark villain and tales that portray him as Yclau's savior. I should like to meet him someday." 

Weldon was glad that his hood hid his face; his smile had grown too broad. "I am afraid he is rather busy at the moment." 

Birdesmond did not pursue the matter. "And so that was when you came to work in the Eternal Dungeon?" 

"In the outer dungeon, as a furnace-stoker. My Seeker's behavior had stunned me. I thought to myself that, if his behavior was typical of the other men and women working in the Eternal Dungeon, then this was a place where my parents would have wanted me to work. . . . The dungeon did not turn out to be so ideal a workplace as I had imagined, but it was close enough to my dreams that I was satisfied." 

"And you stayed here after that?" 

"During my years in the outer dungeon I was permitted to visit the lighted world, but I rarely did so. From the time I arrived here, this seemed to be the right place for me." 

"Mm." Birdesmond's eyes wandered away, staring aimlessly at the glass-blocked wall. "And how old were you?" 

"Twenty-nine. I took my oath as Seeker five years later." 

"That is a young age at which to decide that you want to be imprisoned for the rest of your life." 

"Not so young as that; most Seekers take their vows when they are in their early twenties. Besides, there is comfort in knowing that all Seekers have made the same sacrifice – that none of you are worse off than the others." 

Birdesmond considered this remark at length before saying, "And you had no ties outside the dungeon, other than the two sisters you did not know well?" 

"I had a couple of friends from the manufactory – Seamus and Jock. I was sorry to have to break ties with them, but I made other friends here." 

"Among the men and women in the outer dungeon?" 

"Among the men," he clarified. "I am afraid those friendships turned out not to be permanent. All of my lasting relationships have been with Seekers." 

Birdesmond's gaze wandered, dancing up and down the wall like the flames behind it, until it came to rest on an iron ring set high upon the wall. After a minute, Weldon said, "Mistress Birdesmond?" 

"Mr. Chapman." Birdesmond's voice was far away. "You have given me a great deal to think about. I was wondering . . . I know this must be an unusual request, but I was wondering whether we might end our conversation today, so that I could have time to think." 

Weldon frowned. "I fear that would not be possible. You see, we are overcrowded with prisoners at the moment, and the High Seeker has asked that we conclude our searchings quickly—" 

"Yes, I am sure." Birdesmond's voice remained distracted. "But you know, I am still new to all this, and I really think it would be best if I give careful thought to what I am to do next. I would not want to make any terrible mistakes that I would regret afterwards." 

Weldon opened his mouth, and then closed it. Birdesmond was perfectly right. If he was really going to permit her to search him, then he had to do so properly. That meant she, not he, was the one who must decide the length of the sessions. And after all, he could be sure that she was not lengthening their time together out of sheer perverseness. She wanted to see the High Seeker; she would spend as little time with Weldon as was needed to obtain her true goal. 

"Well," he said, rising from his seat, "it is true that I have a great deal of documentwork awaiting me. Perhaps this is the day when I will catch up on my work." 

"Or perhaps you may rest," she suggested, rising with her jeweled comb in hand. "You look rather tired, Mr. Chapman. I hope your sleep is untroubled." 

"Perfectly," he said tersely. "I will see you tomorrow, Mistress Birdesmond." 

She swept him a curtsey; he bowed. Then he walked to the cell door, trying to push back the uneasy feeling that she knew about his dreams. 

o—o—o

The common room was different in the dark. Lamps glittered like stars along the walls, while the back portion of the room, usually sunlit during the day, was black but for an occasional candle. Only murmurs could be heard. 

Most of the day shift had gone to bed already. The only people still up were a few retired Seekers and a handful of junior Seekers and guards who were still young enough to think they could keep late hours without being weary the next day. Weldon look round the room till he saw a group of three Seekers sitting together. He walked over. 

The eldest man at the table was retired; though he still wore his hood, the face-cloth was flung up, as it had not been in public during his working days. He frowned at the chessboard before him. Glancing at the new arrival, he said, "You're up late, Weldon." 

"A dream woke me." Weldon looked down at the positions of the chess pieces, willing the elderly man to make the move. Retirement was not a luxury open to all Seekers: only Seekers who were disabled by ill health were permitted it. This particular Seeker – who happened to be the man who had trained Weldon – had acquired a crippling arthritis, due to his long years in the dungeon's damp cave. He had rejected the dungeon healer's recommendation that he be released to the lighted world, saying that he wished to fulfill his oath. 

Softly, so as not to disturb the Seeker's train of thought, Weldon asked, "Where's the High Seeker?" 

"Elsdon Taylor is on duty – where do you think the High Seeker is? —Check to your King; I'll have him in four moves." With effort, the elderly Seeker picked up his black Queen with his fist and moved her forward one square, in the direction of the white Vovimian King. 

His fellow player swore. He was middle-aged, but he too had the face-cloth of his hood pulled up. He said, in a musing manner, "Layle Smith makes the rest of us look like free men by comparison." 

The third man at the table, a junior Seeker scribbling documentwork, said, "I wish I could go mad and take a lengthy holiday from my work." 

The silence at the table alerted him to trouble. He looked up to see three Seekers glaring at him. "What?" he said weakly. "For love of the Code, I was only making mock!" 

"Make mock about a less serious matter," the elderly Seeker growled. "Weldon, you're likely to find the High Seeker awake. I've heard that he spends the night shift doing documentwork." 

Weldon shook his head. "I won't disturb him. Good night, all." 

The elderly Seeker opened his mouth to give his farewell just as the middle-aged Seeker, with a cry of triumph, picked up one of his guards and moved it forward to pick off a black Seeker. "Check! I have your Queen in two moves." He scooted his chair back, revealing that one of his legs was cut off at the knee. He had survived his prisoner's attack, but gangrene had set in afterwards. 

The elderly Seeker groaned. The junior Seeker, leaning forward, said, "No, wait! He'll have to sacrifice his High Master to do that, so all that you need do is bring forward your High Seeker, and then . . ." 

The conversation faded as Weldon moved into the hallway, little more than a dark tunnel, since the lamplighters had not yet renewed this portion of the dungeon. He wondered to himself, as he walked back to his cell, why it was that he had wished to speak to the High Seeker. He was too old to seek out the comfort of another person just because he was plagued by nightmares.


	4. Chapter 4

Weldon dragged himself wearily to his prisoner's cell the next morning. After three hours spent trying to stave off his dreams, he had finally abandoned sleep and spent the remainder of the night doing documentwork. But this proved to be no more pleasurable an exercise, for his conversation the previous day with Birdesmond had caused his mind to wander, with frightening accuracy, to the worst year of his life: the year he became a guard in the Eternal Dungeon. 

Those were the years before the dungeon's Torturers were renamed Seekers. It was still the custom then for guards-in-training to be hazed by more experienced guards. Weldon had accepted this custom, even though it seemed to him that his hazing was of a higher degree than that of the other new guards. He guessed that his special status – as a commoner who had been elevated to the elite – required that he prove himself to a greater degree. 

And then the six months of his training ended, and the hazing continued. It was becoming clear to Weldon that the hazing would never end. It was not meant to serve the same purpose as it did with the other new guards, of allowing them the opportunity to show their mettle and to bond with more experienced guards. In his case, the hazing was meant to drive him out of the inner dungeon, back to the commoner world where he belonged. 

Stubbornly, he stuck the matter out, refusing to leave, refusing to tattle to the High Torturer about what was happening. If only, he thought to himself, he could last until a Torturer discovered the hazing and put a stop to it. 

He had worked in the inner dungeon for nearly a year on the day that they cornered him in an empty cell and demanded that he go down on his knees before each of them, in the manner that a commoner does before the men to whom he owes servitude. Wearily, he did so; he had done this for these men many times before. But then the newest and youngest guard, only three days into training, demanded that Weldon kiss his boot. Amidst the jibes and jeers, Weldon refused. 

And so they stripped him of his clothes and tied him to the ring and used their whips on him, each one accompanying his beating with catcalls about vile commoners. They told him they were doing him a favor – that when he became a Torturer, he'd need to undergo this training in any case. And then they threw his bloodied body onto the floor and ordered him to kiss all their boots, lest they place him on the rack. 

Weldon, sobbing his refusals, raised his face from the ground in time to see that the door to the cell had opened a crack. There, unnoticed by the other guards, stood a black-hooded Torturer, his olive-skinned hand tight on the latch. 

Another sob escaped Weldon, this one of relief. It was not just any Torturer – it was Mr. Smith, the young Torturer who had defended him in court, the man who was so valued by the High Torturer that he had recently been selected to revise the _Code of Seeking_. If anyone could put a stop to this, Mr. Smith could. 

Weldon raised his gaze to the Torturer's eyes. That was a mistake. 

For a moment, they were both motionless, gazing upon one another: Weldon unable to move, Mr. Smith looking down at him with eyes smiling with pleasure. Then softly, so softly that the other guards did not notice, the young Torturer closed the door. 

That night, after the torment had finally ended, Weldon lay shuddering in his bed, trying to figure out what to do next. He had been wrong about his Torturer, and if he was wrong about Mr. Smith . . . 

The next morning Weldon was given a message bidding him to come to the High Torturer's office. Such was Weldon's state of mind that he was convinced that the High Torturer planned to punish him for refusing to kiss the guards' boots. Instead, the High Torturer told him that he was to be trained to become a Torturer, due to a recommendation from one of the Torturers. 

That was the day when Weldon learned that Layle Smith made a great distinction between what he enjoyed and what he countenanced. 

Weldon tried to keep that distinction in mind as he walked toward Birdesmond's cell. Was his desire to bring a quick end to this searching due only to his selfish desire to end the nightmares and dark memories that Birdesmond was unwittingly triggering? No, he was sure that was not the case. His motive was to help the prisoners – the other prisoners, who were awaiting his assistance. If Birdesmond had truly committed a crime, he would have spent as lengthy a time with her as was needed, but he was increasingly sure that she was innocent of any crime. So he must put a stop to this. 

The question was how. 

He found Birdesmond once more next to the fiery wall, this time on her knees, placing her hand against the bottom edge of the wall. She turned her head when he entered and said, "I thought perhaps the wall was hot enough that a prisoner could burn himself on it." 

Weldon waited until his senior day guard had closed the door. Then he walked forward to the middle of the cell, saying, "No. The height and temperature of the fires are regulated to prevent that." 

"That was foresightful of the Eternal Dungeon." 

"It was a reaction to lack of foresight, actually. These furnaces were installed after a prisoner deliberately burned himself to death on one of the stoves that used to heat the prisoners' cells." 

Birdesmond was in the midst of trying to disentangle herself from her wide skirt in order to rise. As on the previous day, Weldon had to suppress the impulse to come forward and help her rise. She looked up at him and said quietly, "How very sad. I notice that the cells have watch-holes, which are mentioned in the _Code of Seeking_. Was no guard watching the prisoner at the time this happened?" 

"No," said Weldon, "he was not." He felt the familiar weight of guilt press upon him, accompanied by a sharp annoyance that Birdesmond continued to show such talent in bringing the darkest aspects of his past into the present. 

"Well," said Birdesmond, finally rising, "I am not very surprised to hear about the death – such things happen in every prison – but I am surprised at the lengths that the Eternal Dungeon has gone to prevent such a death from occurring again. The Seekers certainly go to much trouble to care for their prisoners." 

It was the type of opening he had wanted; he grasped at it eagerly. "This is especially so with female prisoners," he said. "The _Code of Seeking_ , as you may have noticed, has special rules on the treatment of female prisoners – for example, women cannot be tortured. And these rules are backed by stricter policies of supervision over the Seekers who search female prisoners. In fact, it is likely that, within the next day or two, either the Codifier or someone he appoints will visit to check that you are being properly tended—" 

"And there is a rule against touching? I notice that you have taken great care not to touch me." 

He felt exultant. Now, at last, they were in the final paces of the searching; now he could demonstrate clearly to her that her efforts to accuse him of abuse were misguided. "The _Code of Seeking_ forbids all Seekers from touching prisoners, whether the prisoners be female or male. That is one of our strictest rules. If one of my guards saw me touch you, in however small a manner, he would be required to report me to the Codifier. That is why guards are under orders to watch the interactions between Seeker and prisoner in an especially close manner if the prisoner is a woman." 

Birdesmond nodded. "And the outer dungeon workers. Are you forbidden from touching them as well?" 

He was silent a moment, trying to trace mentally her pattern of searching. Then he said, "There is no official rule against it, but it would not be appropriate for a Seeker to do so. We are required to maintain formality at all times with the outer dungeon inhabitants. That is why we wear the face-cloths of our hoods down when we are in public." 

"So you have not touched anyone since you became a Seeker." 

Suddenly the path of her searching was manifest to him; he felt himself relax accordingly. "I know that the popular image of a Seeker is of a touch-starved man who has been deprived of all human contact and is therefore driven to base lusts with his prisoners," he said, letting amusement enter his voice. "But this is not the case. The custom in the Eternal Dungeon is to permit friendships between the inhabitants of the inner dungeon, the Seekers and the guards. The Code even permits Seekers to choose love-mates amongst each other, since all Seekers take the oath of eternal confinement." 

"And have you done so?" 

He could have cursed himself in the next moment. He had braided the noose and slung it over his own neck. No doubt her question was innocent enquiry rather than deliberate entrapment, but it was not a question he wanted to answer. 

"That is personal information, Mistress Birdesmond," he said in his most forbidding voice. 

"I am very sorry, sir," she said, looking down at the ground. "I know that I am your prisoner and ought not to be questioning you." 

She was watching him through her lashes. Weldon remembered, too late, that he had not offered her a seat. It hardly seemed appropriate for him to do so now. It was the Seeker who decided such matters, and Birdesmond – as she had just pointedly reminded him – was taking the role of Seeker in this exchange. 

Unless he wanted to turn the rules and take back the power of searching. That would not please Layle, not when Weldon had come so far with this prisoner. Weldon was highly tempted to lie to Birdesmond, but the Code explicitly stated the penalties for lying by male prisoners and— No, Weldon really did not want to test whether Birdesmond would demand that the guards be brought in to beat him. 

He decided that it was instead time to teach Birdesmond the most valuable lesson any Seeker-in-Training ever learns: that a blatant lie can fairly easily be detected, but an evasion is far harder to notice. 

"Well," he said, "I am a bit shy about discussing my private life, I will admit. I suppose that is because my fortune has been so great. A number of years ago, a Seeker of high reputation, who was my friend, asked me to be his love-mate. I was pleased and honored to accept his proposal." 

"I see," said Birdesmond. "And how long did your love-bond last?" 

His tongue nearly stumbled, but he recovered himself quickly. "It is an honor I have retained to the present day." 

"No doubt," said Birdesmond, sweetly soft. "But I did not ask you whether you had retained your honor; I asked how long you remained love-mates with this man. One year? Ten?" 

"Mistress Birdesmond," he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt, "I really do not want to be talking about my private life when another person is involved. He might not like my discussing this with you." 

"Oh, yes, of course," said Birdesmond. "I quite understand." 

She lowered her eyes again, but this time she did not try to hide the steady stare she gave him. She might as well have shouted aloud, "Your refusal to answer tells me all that I need to know." 

Weldon found himself hoping that his day guards were not listening to this conversation. His reputation as a Seeker might never recover if others heard about this. He spent a minute confirming for himself that the noose was tightened beyond any ability for him to remove it. Then he said, with a small sigh, "The love-bond lasted less than an hour." 

To her credit, she did not laugh. "You decided it would not be wise to proceed with the relationship?" 

"The other Seeker made certain statements which showed me clearly that our visions of love were very different and that I should not proceed into the love-bond. I was glad, afterwards, that I learned of our incompatibility so early on, before our ties were fully formed." 

"But you were in love with him?" 

"I thought I was at the time." Weldon had his gaze narrowed upon her now. He was trying, through what now seemed to him to be a feeble mind, to figure out what connection this conversation had with the female prisoners whom Birdesmond believed he was abusing. "I realized afterwards that I was not. I had thought he was a man I ought to feel passion toward, and so I had persuaded myself that I did. I am not sure whether that makes sense to you." 

"Oh, yes," she said with a smile. "It has happened to me as well, and to many people, I think. It is less likely to happen once you have truly fallen in love. And that has happened to you, I suppose?" 

"I— Excuse me? I am not sure I understand the question." 

"You have fallen in love with other Seekers? You have sought to create other love-bonds? Or at least considered doing so?" 

He could feel something hard in his chest, preventing him from taking easy breaths. "Mistress Birdesmond, I am not sure what you are trying to determine." 

"Well," she said with an apologetic air, "I suppose I am twisting and turning down a complicated path. You spoke two days ago about how all of the Seekers make the same sacrifice and that none of you are worse off than the others." 

"Perhaps I exaggerated. My own sacrifice was lesser than that of many Seekers here, because I was able to spend more time in the lighted world than most Seekers do. Other Seekers are somewhat worse off than me." 

"Ah." Her voice had taken on an apologetic tone. "Then I fear I am a bit confused. You see, the _Code of Seeking_ makes provision for Seekers who wish to take male love-mates, but it does not seem to provide any solution for men who are only able to feel passion for women." 

"And you think—" Weldon had to force the words out. "You think such men as that are more likely to abuse female prisoners?" 

"Oh, no, I was not trying to suggest that. Men will assault women for many reasons, and previously denied desires are only one of those reasons. No, what I wanted to suggest is that the Seekers who are unable to feel passion for other men have made a greater sacrifice in vowing to remain here than the Seekers who can feel passion for other men and can therefore choose love-mates amongst each other. Any Seeker who thinks otherwise has deceived himself. And you know," she said softly, "I do think that self-deception is a very great evil. Whether or not it leads a person to commit a crime, it is still a darkness of the soul, and one that ought to be rooted out. With help, if need be. Don't you agree?" 

Weldon was staring at the ground now. His heart was beating hard, and it was even more difficult to breathe in this position than it had been before, but he dared not let Birdesmond see the expression written upon his face. "Perhaps," he said in a low voice. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a man ran through darkness, searching desperately. 

o—o—o

The High Seeker was silent a while before he said, "She is skilled." 

"She is," Weldon agreed. 

"But not skilled enough. She has not reached the heart of the matter." He reached over for his drink. 

Weldon was silent. Around him he could hear light chatter, somewhat easier in tone than the last time he had visited this common room while the High Seeker was here. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the High Seeker had chosen, for the first time in nine months, to appear in public without Elsdon at his side. It was a good sign, a very good sign. 

Weldon wished he could feel more pleasure than he did at the High Seeker's renewed health. Perhaps his weariness of mind came simply from weariness of body. It was past midnight, and while it was normal for the High Seeker to be awake at this hour – he took the night shift – Weldon was usually in bed at this time. He had been awakened again, though, by the dream that had possessed him for many years: a dream in which he ran and ran through the darkness, seeking a door he never found. 

Layle flicked a glance at him, and then returned his attention to the cup he was sipping from. Weldon wondered whether the High Seeker knew where that missing door lay. As Layle had subtly indicated, the mystery did not lie with the fact that Weldon was incapable of feeling passion for men. Weldon had known that for many years, since shortly after his abortive attempt to enter into a love-bond with another Seeker. He had grieved over that knowledge, had come to terms with it, and had continued with his life. After all, he was not the only Seeker who could feel passion only for women and would forever be deprived of entering into love with another person. There were other Seekers here who had made that sacrifice. 

That was not where Weldon's pain lay; that was not what made his heart ache whenever he saw Layle and Elsdon together and sensed the depth of their passion for each other. But where his pain lay – what door was missing from his life – he did not know. 

Now, for the first time in many years, he was beginning to grow afraid that someone else would learn the truth before he did. 

"Mr. Chapman," Layle said softly, "if you would prefer, I can have the Record-keeper transfer Mistress Birdesmond to another Seeker." 

For a moment he was tempted. Then he remembered his oath and said, "That would not be in the best interests of the prisoner, sir. Matters are proceeding well between the two of us: she has already made the error of thinking she has discovered the full truth about me, and I suspect that she has reached the limits of her ability." 

"No doubt." The certainty in Layle's voice was reassuring. "I have met others like her. They have a certain inborn talent for being able to ferret out other people's secrets, and they think that is enough to enable them to become Seekers. But there is a great deal more to being a Seeker than simply breaking a prisoner." He lifted his gaze to Weldon. "In permitting Mistress Birdesmond to search you, I am placing you at some risk. Perhaps undue risk." 

"Seekers are always at risk with their prisoners," Weldon responded promptly. 

Layle held Weldon's gaze for a moment, and then let his eyes wander away, not replying. Weldon, following his gaze, saw that Layle's senior night guard was sitting at the table where Elsdon had sat on Layle's previous visits here. He was absorbed in conversation with another guard. 

Weldon wondered how Layle felt at being shadowed. He doubted that the guard was here by Layle's order; no doubt the Codifier had asked the guard to keep his eye on the situation. It was not the first time this had happened, but it must be galling to Layle, who had finally found the strength to give up his chaperone, to know that he was not yet fully trusted. 

Or perhaps he found it a comfort. Weldon wished he knew the High Seeker better than he did. 

In his usual uncanny manner of following up on other people's unspoken thoughts, Layle said, "I am sorry that the prisoner chose to search you on so sensitive a matter from your past." 

Weldon, sitting on the edge of his seat, did his best to look relaxed and unconcerned. "It has been many years, sir. I long ago realized that what happened was for the best." In fact, it had not been so long ago that he had reached this realization, but that was a matter best not spoken of. He said, more hesitantly, "My only regret is, not that I refused to enter into such a bond, but that I expressed my refusal in so hurtful a manner – a manner that prevented our other, more suitable relationship from continuing." 

Layle's gaze wandered back toward the scattering of men in the room. "As you say, that was many years ago. The past is past." 

"Sir, I—" 

"Do you have any more questions about your work with the prisoner, Mr. Chapman?" 

Layle had picked up his pen again; it was hovering over his documentwork, a pointed reminder that he was on duty at this moment. Weldon swallowed and said in a low voice, "No, sir." 

Layle nodded and began to scribble a signature at the bottom of the page he had been reading. Weldon got up carefully, abandoning his mug on the table that had separated him from the High Seeker. 

He reached the doorway just as a silence fell upon the inhabitants of the common room. Raising his eyes from the ground, Weldon saw that Elsdon, who should have been on duty at this time of night, was standing there, surveying the crowd. He greeted Weldon in a friendly manner, but his words seemed forced. 

"Is something wrong?" Weldon spoke low. Behind him, the chatter had resumed in a somewhat strained manner. 

Elsdon shook his head. "Not the sort of trouble this lot is thinking of. I didn't come to see whether the High Seeker has wreaked havoc in my absence; the Record-keeper asked me to fetch Layle for a conference. A half dozen more prisoners have arrived tonight – we're about to run out of cells to house new prisoners." 

"Sweet blood," Weldon swore softly. Cursing was a habit he had acquired with difficulty, having been taught by his parents to keep his thoughts and mouth pure, but he had found that voicing a select few curses commonly spoken by the high-born of Yclau was a small way in which he could bind himself with the other inhabitants of the inner dungeon. 

"I'd better break my prisoner today, then, so that I can clear her cell for another prisoner's use," Weldon said. "It will be a pleasure to be through with her." 

He started to step past Elsdon, but the junior Seeker grabbed his elbow. Their eyes met, and Weldon remembered, too late, that Elsdon shared Layle's talent for being able to sense when a prisoner was in turmoil. 

Weldon sighed and looked back at the High Seeker. Layle was pretending he did not see Elsdon standing at the doorway. Perhaps that was only because Weldon was standing at the doorway too. Layle's night guard was frowning, as though he sensed that Layle's equilibrium had been adversely affected during the past few minutes. 

"What has happened?" Elsdon's voice was soft. 

Weldon shook his head, looking back at the junior Seeker. "Stupidity on my part. I brought up the subject of our pasts." 

Compassion lay in Elsdon's eyes. "It isn't just you, Weldon. He has been pushing everyone back since this began." 

"Not you." 

"Yes, me as well. We're – divided in a way that we weren't before." 

Weldon managed to stop himself in time from pointing out that Elsdon at least had the comfort of knowing he had once been intimate with Layle. Weldon had struggled hard to kill his jealousy for Elsdon; he would not allow himself to return to that state. He knew, to his very bones, that he would not have been happy as Layle's love-mate and could not have given the High Seeker what Elsdon was giving him. 

And yet still, when he saw Layle and Elsdon together, he felt pain, as though somehow they held a secret he was searching for. 

A missing door? 

"I must go," Weldon murmured. "I'm on duty in four hours." 

Elsdon nodded and released Weldon, who began to make his way down the empty hallway leading back to the inner dungeon. His sleeping cell awaited him; he hoped he would have no more nightmares tonight. Or in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

He found her staring at the fiery wall again, but she did not turn when he entered. She said abruptly, "The first line in the _Code of Seeking_ is, 'A Seeker must be willing to suffer for the prisoners.'" 

"Yes," he agreed. "That line is also in the oath all Seekers take." 

"The words seem odd to me," Birdesmond said. "It is the prisoners who suffer most, not the Seekers. It is the prisoners who must be broken, and perhaps tortured and sent to their deaths. How dare the Seekers think of their own pain when they give such great pain to others?" 

Weldon scrutinized the back of her head. It was tilted as she looked up at the iron ring from which tortured prisoners were bound, and he felt a pang of sympathy for her. She was quicker than him. He had already taken his vow as a Seeker before he realized the extent of the power he held over prisoners, and what the consequences of that power must be. 

But then, she had already used her skills to send a man to prison. Perhaps this had been on her mind all this time, and she had simply been waiting to find someone to whom she could ask the question. 

So he answered her, saying, "The pain we feel is almost never as great as the pain of the prisoners. We do our best to lessen the difference between ourselves and the prisoners; we imprison ourselves in this dungeon and we undergo training that requires us to feel much of the same pain as we may inflict on our prisoners. But even so, our pain can rarely match that of our prisoners, because what hurts them most is the unknown – the uncertainty as to whether their breaking will destroy their futures." 

"Perhaps," she suggested in a low voice, "no one has the right to inflict such pain upon another person." 

It would be easy, oh so easy, to let this be the end of the conversation. All he need do was agree, or perhaps remain silent, and she would be left without any justification for what she was doing to him and wished to do to others. He could end her journey now. 

But the answer was there, in the very words she had spoken. He guessed that the answer would come to her late some night, even if he did not supply her with it. So he said, "We do not vow to suffer as much as the prisoners. All we vow is to be _willing_ to suffer for them. If our duty requires us to undergo pain for the prisoners, or even to die, then we must embrace our suffering willingly. We must be prepared at any moment to give all that we have to help transform the prisoner." 

She turned then; her face was clear, and there was a firmness in her eyes that disturbed him. She said, in a voice as gentle as though she had been the one offering the comfort, "It is easier for the Seeker, though, if the prisoner recognizes the need for his own pain, and accepts it." 

"It is much easier," he agreed, and waited. 

Her gaze travelled over him, and he wondered what she was seeing. He had often looked at himself in the mirror when he was younger and had decided long ago that he was the stereotype of what a commoner should look like: stocky, rough-haired, coarse in looks, with no grace in his bodily movements. He did not place much concern in this. As a Seeker, he knew that ugliness of the body might be matched by beauty of the soul, and he must have enough of that beauty to have drawn the High Seeker's heart to him. But that was many years ago, at a time when Layle was willing to be his friend. The past was past. 

"I was thinking overnight of what we discussed," Birdesmond said in a clear voice. "It occurred to me that there must be a number of men in this dungeon who are unable to feel passion for men – is that not so? Perhaps you know some of them?" 

He could have laughed. It was the most elementary device a Seeker could use to comfort his prisoner: to allow him the opportunity to create an imaginary friend until such time as the prisoner was ready to admit that his friend's troubles were his own. 

"I do," he agreed. "One of my friends is in that situation." 

Birdesmond nodded. She was not fiddling with her gloves today; her hands were relaxed at her sides. "It occurred to me also that different men might have come here for different reasons. I am sure, of course, that all of the Seekers and guards here wish to help the prisoners. But perhaps some of the men here – perhaps a very few – came here in an effort to hide from knowledge about themselves." 

Weldon felt himself relax; it seemed that Birdesmond was going to continue exploring what was old territory to him. "You mean my friend might have come here because he was nervous around women and sought to live in a place where he would not have to undergo the trials of courting women? Yes, I think that has occurred to him." 

Birdesmond looked at him steadily. "So your friend is nervous with women?" 

"I think so. At any rate, he has been able to reconcile himself to the fact that he will never marry." 

"And so your friend who is nervous around women makes all effort to avoid the company of women in the Eternal Dungeon?" 

Her soft words hit him like a blow. His mind staggered, and he sought to maintain his balance. "He – he has worked somewhat with women since his arrival here." 

"Somewhat, or a great deal?" 

"No one in the inner dungeon works a great deal with women," he said quickly. 

"But he has worked with women more than the other guards and Seekers do." 

Silence. Then: "The decision whether to work with women is not entirely his own. He is given his work assignments by the Record-keeper, who often consults with the High Seeker—" 

"But he could refuse to work with women, if he wished to? He could ask for other assignments?" 

Another silence. Then, stiffly: "I am not sure what you are suggesting." 

Birdesmond smoothed down her skirt before saying, "It seems to me that, if your friend is so comfortable around women that he is willing to work with them more often than other Seekers do, then the trouble he believes he escaped by coming here cannot have been simply a nervousness around women. Perhaps the trouble was something greater than that." 

His mouth was dry. He swallowed. "What sort of trouble?" 

She did not answer at once. Her gaze wandered away from him, exploring the smooth stones of the cell, the metal door behind him, the well-swept flagstones, and finally the hard sleeping-bench provided for prisoners. "Your friend – has he fallen in love with anyone since he came here? Has he felt passion of body and heart toward anyone?" 

"He thought he did once," said Weldon, adding swiftly, "but that was toward a man. He has discovered since that time that he cannot feel passion toward men." 

"But he has not fallen in love?" 

"No. He lives in the Eternal Dungeon. He cannot mate himself with another man—" 

"Yet you say he works with women." 

A third silence. Weldon could feel the blood surging through his veins as his heart hammered within him. His skin had turned hot. He said, "The women he works with . . . they are prisoners. It would be inappropriate for him to fall in love with a prisoner." 

"Certainly it would be inappropriate for any prison worker to establish bonds of love with a prisoner, but I do not recall that the _Code of Seeking_ is so foolish as to forbid the Seekers and guards from involuntary responses, such as falling in love with prisoners. Surely that is not uncommon? It happens quite a lot at Parkside Prison." 

His breath was starting to rasp; he tried to steady it. "It depends on the Seeker or guard. Some men are better than others at controlling their responses—" 

"Oh?" Birdesmond raised a delicate eyebrow. "So the well-controlled Seekers never fall in love?" 

Involuntarily, Weldon's mind leapt to an image of Elsdon kneeling beside Layle. Elsdon, Layle's former prisoner. Weldon was not so foolish as to think that Layle's love of the young man had begun only after Elsdon ceased to be his prisoner. 

"I am not sure . . ." His voice faltered, and he tried again. "I am still not sure what you are trying to say." 

"Well, your friend's situation seems odd to me. You say that he can fall in love with women, can feel passion for them, and yet, after all these years of working with female prisoners, he has not felt passion for a single one of them. Is it possible, Mr. Chapman, that, if your friend had remained in the lighted world, he would have failed to feel passion for any of the women he courted?" 

Breathing now seemed an exercise that took more effort than it was worth. He stared at Birdesmond blankly, as though he were in darkness and could see nothing before him. No path, no door – never any door. It was not beyond his view; it simply did not exist. It had never existed. 

"I cannot love," he whispered. 

"What did you say, Mr. Chapman?" 

He stared at her, dimly seeing the soft contours of her face. She was beautiful, she was attractive in both body and soul. And he felt nothing. Nothing. 

"He cannot love," he said hoarsely. "My friend . . . He is incapable of love. He – he is misshapen, he has a crippled soul. Something must have gone wrong when he was reborn into his new life. Here in the Eternal Dungeon, where some men are celibate, he can hide his deformity more easily. But he is twisted, down to his very heart." 

Birdesmond responded by frowning. She glared at him, as she might have glared at an ugly slug that had slid its way onto her path. She looked thoroughly disgusted. "Really, Mr. Chapman," she said. "I might remind you that you are a commoner." 

It was a blow he was not prepared for. He turned his head, as though she had doubled a whip and struck it against his cheek. He remembered Layle saying, "I am placing you at some risk." He ought to have heeded those words. 

He had seen it many times in his work, what happened to a prisoner at this point in the searching. The prisoner's terrible vulnerability, as though he had been stripped of all skin, so that any blow taken would be a death blow to his soul. It took skill – oh, so much skill – not to harm the prisoner in those moments. This was particularly the case when the prisoner had revealed himself, through his confession, to be a vile person, one who could be worthily scorned. It took all the skill of a Seeker to keep from scorning such a prisoner, to keep from harming him beyond repair. 

And Mistress Birdesmond was not a Seeker. He ought to have remembered that. He had taken the most dangerous step in the world: he had allowed someone who was not a Seeker the opportunity to search him. 

He was shaking now, thinking of her look and her words, thinking of the contempt he had endured when he first came to work in the inner dungeon. He had survived such contempt because he had convinced himself that it was unjustified. He was not a vile man. He was not "common" in the true sense of the word. 

Only he was. However unjustified the high-born might be in scorning other commoners, the scorn had been justified in his case. He was a man incapable of love, a man who was not truly human. He had hidden that knowledge from himself and from others, but now it was clear to him. He had felt no stirring of the heart toward Layle, not only because he was unable to feel love toward men, but because he was unable to feel love toward anyone. 

And Birdesmond knew this and scorned him for it. Sweet blood; sweet, sweet blood. If he could only get away from here – if he could only find a way to escape— 

He remembered then the prisoner in the crematorium, whose candle he lit every few months. He closed his eyes. No – no, he would not do that. However much he deserved it, he would not do that to himself. Layle would never be able to bear it if he did. 

The thought of the High Seeker brought unexpected comfort to Weldon. Layle too was a man who had committed vile deeds in his life, and he had found a way beyond that. Somehow, Weldon would do the same. He opened his eyes and said steadily to Birdesmond, "The fact that I am a commoner is irrelevant to my friend's condition. Other commoners are capable of love; my own parents were very much in love with one another." 

Birdesmond looked puzzled. Then, for a moment, a stricken expression passed over her face. It was quickly gone, and she said calmly, "I apologize, Mr. Chapman; I expressed myself badly. I did not mean to imply that I was using the word 'commoner' as an insult. I was trying to point out that commoners are often wiser in matters of love than are the high-born." 

He made no reply; it was too much of an effort to do so. He dared not let himself hope that he was anything more in her eyes than a slug. 

"You spoke just now of love, and then you said that your parents were _in_ love, as though the two were the same. Do you really equate love with passion?" 

"Of course not," he said automatically. "It all depends on what sort of relationship is sought. Two friends can love each other without passion, or a parent can love a child—" He stopped, a glimmer of hope beginning to rise in him. It was too small to penetrate the darkness within him. 

"Only friends? Are you saying that, if a man and a woman wish to share their life together, they must feel passion for one another?" 

He frowned, uncertain of where she was leading him now. She sighed and said, "Mr. Chapman, I told you I had many suitors. They came to me and told me that they loved me to the depths of their being, that they would love me through a thousand lifetimes, that their love was as endless as the monarchy. And then, when they learned that I wished to be a prison worker, somehow their endless love disappeared and they abandoned me. After this had happened a dozen times or more, it occurred to me to ask a suitor what he meant when he said that he loved me. It turned out that what he meant by 'love' was a stirring here" – she held her hand over her heart – "and here." She lowered her hand slightly. 

Weldon felt himself blush. Noticing this, Birdesmond smiled and said, "Such stirrings are indeed exciting; I have felt them myself. They hold possibilities for binding two people together. But in order to stay bound . . . I asked my family and friends what they thought love was, and they all defined it the way my suitors did, as a feeling of passion. Then it occurred to me to ask the families I spent time with at the prison." 

"You received a different answer?" he blurted out. He was trying, desperately, to remember now what it was that he seen in his parents' relationship with one another that had made him desire so greatly to find a life-mate – the bond he had sensed between Layle and Elsdon, which had made his heart ache with longing again. Surely it had been passion? 

"The high-born can afford such luxuries as marrying for passion," Birdesmond said. "After all, if their passion dies, they can simply divorce. But people living in poverty cannot afford that luxury. They cannot hire a nurse for their children if they send away their wife, and they cannot persuade someone to earn bread for their children's mouths if they send away their husband. They must pick their life-mates more carefully. And so, when I asked the young women and youths in the prison waiting-room how they chose their husbands and wives, their answers were down-to-earth. While they enjoyed being in love, they picked their partners on the basis of which people would be likely to stay with them and live the type of life they wished to live. They sought people they could join their fortunes with, whom they could care for and be cared for by, and who would be willing to help them raise a family. This was the foundation of their marriages, and I have no doubt, Mr. Chapman, that if your parents' marriage was as successful as you say, that this was the foundation for them as well." 

Weldon stared at the far wall of the cell blankly, watching the flames leap and fall. Finally he said slowly, "I think . . . I think it is not only that way with commoners. I know two Seekers . . . If you asked them, no doubt they would say that they were drawn to one another through passion. Yet one of the Seekers has been gravely ill, and caring for him has been a great burden on the other Seeker. I do not think the second Seeker would have remained with the first Seeker through all this time of illness unless they were bound together through something more than passion." 

Birdesmond said nothing. After a while, Weldon tore his gaze away from the light. Flames continued to dance before his eyes, but his vision was dark once more. "This knowledge comes too late," he said hoarsely. "If I— If my friend indeed took employment in the inner dungeon partly because he believed himself incapable of love and because he sought a place where he could hide this knowledge from himself and others . . . If that is true, it is too late. He cannot leave here. It is still women he is drawn to, even if in a passionless manner, and he cannot join himself with a commoner woman who would be willing to enter into such a marriage as you describe. That door is lost to him; it is somewhere long behind him." 

"I had guessed as much," Birdesmond said softly. "And so you see, your friend has deceived himself twice: once by thinking he was incapable of love, and twice by thinking he could find happiness in this place. All he can find here is the pain of knowing that he has left behind the place where he might have found his own kind of love." 

The darkness was silent. Weldon felt his legs tremble, as a man's legs might tremble if he has been running for a long time and is now about to collapse in exhaustion. He could not speak. 

Birdesmond asked softly, "Do you wish to stop the searching?" 

"Yes," he whispered. 

The darkness did not speak. 

o—o—o

"Yes, Mr. Chapman." The High Seeker's gaze remained fixed upon the document whose margins he was scribbling in. "How are matters going with your prisoner?" 

"Quite well, sir. She has succeeded in breaking me." 

Layle's pen stopped in its path abruptly. After a moment, the High Seeker slowly raised his head to look up at Weldon. Dawn was just beginning to touch the crystalline ceiling above them; the strongest light in the room came from the lamp on the table between them, which cast deep shadows over the holes in Layle's hood, hiding the expression in his eyes. 

After a moment, he said, "You had better sit down and tell me." 

Weldon did so, grateful to be off his feet. Even though he had forced himself to take a night's rest before reporting, he still felt shaky. 

The room, which was normally crowded at dawn with men preparing for the day shift and other men returning from the night shift, was deserted but for Layle's senior night guard. He had glanced briefly at Weldon when the Seeker entered, and then had returned to napping upon a table with his head cradled in his arms. Weldon was not surprised. He had left Birdesmond's cell the previous day to find a group of Seekers and guards crowded around the notice-board in the dungeon's entry hall. Signed by the High Seeker, a notice there informed the inner dungeon workers that, for the near future, all senior Seekers would be required to search two prisoners at a time, taking two eight-hour shifts each day, rather than their normal twelve-hour shift. Senior guards would follow the same schedule. All junior Seekers and junior guards would be required to work through their usual dawn and dusk leisure hours, in order to care for the documentwork that the senior members of the inner dungeon would be too busy to do. 

Ignoring the Record-keeper – who was trying to catch his eye in order to assign him a second prisoner – Weldon had left the entry hall, his ear alert for any complaints that the High Seeker was not doing his fair share of the work. No complaints could be heard. Either the inner dungeon workers recognized how difficult it was for Layle Smith to let others do his work, or everyone still feared the consequences if Layle came near a prisoner. 

Now, Weldon supposed, all of the inner dungeon workers must either be working or lying exhausted in their beds. He wished he could join the latter group; he wished he could stay huddled in his cell until he had ridden out the worst of this. 

He managed to give his report in a reasonably calm manner, and if the High Seeker noticed that his report on the final moments of the searching was somewhat lacking in detail, he said nothing. No doubt, Weldon thought, looking at the darkness hiding Layle's eyes, the High Seeker had guessed all of this long ago. Perhaps it had played a role in the High Seeker's decision not to renew his friendship with Weldon. 

He forced himself to turn aside from such thoughts. What mattered now was the prisoner. 

Layle had been sitting very still since the end of the report, as though he too were absorbing the impact of a great blow. Then he raised his finger. Weldon caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see that Layle's night guard had approached them. 

"Mr. Sobel," said Layle in a quiet voice that barely brushed over them, "I would appreciate it if you would go to Mr. Taylor and ask him, when he has finished his shift, to meet me at the Codifier's office." 

The guard nodded and flicked a brief glance over at Weldon, like a night guard who is relinquishing to a day guard the duty of watching over a prisoner. Weldon said to Layle as his guard left, "You will ask the Codifier's permission to visit my prisoner?" 

"It appears I must." Layle rose slowly to his feet, far slower than he usually moved. He looked round the common room, as though examining it for the last time. 

Weldon said, his voice beginning to break, "I am sorry I failed you, sir." 

Layle turned his head. The room was still too dark to show the expression in his eyes, but his voice was calm as he said, "You have not failed me, Mr. Chapman. Not in the least." 

Weldon was still trying to make sense of this remark when Layle, scooping up the documents from the table, paused in his movement and said, "Mr. Chapman, I am sorry that this has proved to be so difficult a duty for you. If you should need to discuss with a friend what took place between you and Mistress Birdesmond . . ." 

"Yes?" Weldon was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe again. He wished that the candlelight would show what lay within the High Seeker's eye-holes. 

"Mr. Taylor is a good person to talk to." And with those words, Layle turned his head away and began to walk toward the door. 

Weldon let out his breath slowly, feeling the familiar chill of disappointment cover his skin. Then he gave himself a small shake, reminding himself again that what he felt was not important. What mattered was the prisoner, and prisoner was now, unawares, about to enter into her greatest danger. 

He hurried to catch up with the High Seeker.


	6. Chapter 6

"You have taken a great deal of trouble to obtain the opportunity to speak with me, Mistress Birdesmond. I do not appreciate attempts to manipulate my Seekers." 

Layle's voice was soft; Weldon wondered whether Birdesmond knew enough to be wary. If she was afraid, she did not show it. On Weldon's prior order, she had backed up to the far end of the cell, but she was staring unblinking at the hooded figure at the doorway. Staring at two hooded figures, for Elsdon, also with his face-cloth down, was standing beside the High Seeker. The junior Seeker's eyes were turned toward Layle, who was framed by the open doorway and by the two guards in the corridor. 

Weldon forced himself to look back at the prisoner in his charge. With her head lifted high and in a clear voice, Birdesmond responded, "Sir, I have had no intention of manipulating Mr. Chapman." 

The High Seeker said nothing. Weldon guessed that he must be raising his eyebrows. After a moment, Birdesmond said in a quieter voice, "Mr. Chapman seemed troubled when we spoke. Naturally, I wanted to help him in any way I could." 

"Because you like him, or from a feeling of duty?" Layle's reply was as quick and cutting as a well-swung ax. 

"I do not see that those two motives contradict each other." Birdesmond's voice remained calm. 

"There is a great deal of difference between private desire and public duty, Mistress Birdesmond. If you do not know that, then you are not a Seeker." Layle's voice was dark with condescension. Weldon wondered whether Birdesmond would recognize how many of the High Seeker's biting responses were play-acting. 

Though it was always hard to tell with Layle. His play was his pleasure. 

Birdesmond did not blink. "No," she agreed. "I am not a Seeker. The opportunity to receive a Seeker's training has been denied me." 

There was a pause. Stealing a glance at Layle, Weldon noticed that his eyes were shifted away from Birdesmond. This in itself was not unusual – the High Seeker was inclined to look away from prisoners periodically, for reasons Weldon had long since guessed. Even so, the sight increased Weldon's uneasiness. 

"You committed no crime." The High Seeker's voice was flat. "You lied – you wasted my Seeker's time – in an effort to overrule the decision I gave you." 

"I assure you, sir, I have committed a crime." 

"Oh?" The High Seeker's voice was once more dark. "And do you think that prisons and dungeons hire criminals?" 

It was a question, not a statement. The High Seeker had always been skilled at misleading prisoners without breaking the Code's rule against lying. But the falsehood of the statement that Layle was implying – not to mention its hypocrisy – was so strong that Weldon found himself biting down on his tongue. He glanced over at Birdesmond. He had not thought it was possible for her skin to grow any paler, but the ivory had turned to snow white. 

"Well?" Layle's tone was light. "Either you committed a crime, or you lied about a crime – neither of these acts furthers your application, I assure you. Which of these ill deeds did you perpetrate?" 

"I committed a crime." Birdesmond's voice was low now; her hands had formed into fists. 

"Mistress Birdesmond," Layle said, quite softly, "do not lie to me further. It is not wise." 

"I'm not lying!" Birdesmond's voice rose. "When I told others I had applied to become a Seeker, my parents threatened to lock me in my room till I came to my senses, my fiancé broke our engagement, and my friends discussed among themselves whether I should be sent to a home for mental healing. If my desire to be a Seeker isn't a terrible crime, then tell me what I have done to be treated such!" 

Tears were running down her face now, hot water on a face as pale as ice. Weldon sucked in his breath, and then closed his mouth. 

Even Layle seemed to take his time in responding. Finally he said without emotion, "Mistress Birdesmond, I am sorry if you have been treated ill by your family and friends, but—" 

"No." Mistress Birdesmond had removed a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and was wiping the tears away with what appeared to be angry strokes. "I apologize, sir," she said, looking up. "I did not mean to give way like that. My troubles are of no importance; I would not have you train me out of pity. What matters is that I believe I have abilities that can help the prisoners here." 

Layle ran his right thumb along a space just above the palm of his hand. It looked as though he were stroking an invisible blade. After a moment, he said, "The Codifier and I discussed your application at the time it first arrived. We agreed that, while you appeared to have some of the qualities we value in Seekers, we had no evidence that you possess the quality we desire most in Seekers." 

Weldon held his breath, waiting to see whether Birdesmond would make the fatal error of promising to acquire this quality. Instead she said, "I am sorry to hear that, sir. May I ask whether the missing quality is being male?" 

"That factor entered into our decision, certainly. We believe that a female Seeker would cause . . . difficulties for the other Seekers." 

"But surely, sir," Birdesmond said in a voice once more calm, "what matters is not the Seekers' welfare but the prisoners'." 

Elsdon, still watching Layle with unwavering gaze, curled his fingers in a gesture known only to Seekers and guards. It was the equivalent of a thumbs-up. Weldon felt a smile touch his face briefly under his hood. 

"Our prisoners might feel somewhat uncomfortable also if required to take orders from a lady." There was no sign from Layle's voice or body whether he noticed the step forward that had just been taken. 

Birdesmond sighed as she pocketed the wet handkerchief and placed her hands behind her back, like a schoolgirl beginning a recital. "Sir, I do not see that it is any worse for a woman to work with male prisoners than it is for a man to work with female prisoners. But if you dislike that thought, then assign me only to your female prisoners. I would not want to hazard any guesses on the conduct of your Seekers, but I know that, in the lesser prisons, the rape of female prisoners is a constant danger. I could save your female prisoners from that." 

Weldon realized after a moment that he had ceased to breathe. He let go of his breath slowly, not daring to look toward the High Seeker now. 

Layle said imperturbably, "Perhaps. But despite your unwillingness to take into account the Seekers' feelings, they must be taken into account. Your presence here could disturb the Seekers—" 

"All of the Seekers, sir, or just you?" 

Weldon's gaze snapped over to Layle. The High Seeker, staring fixedly at a spot just to the left of the prisoner, said, "I see no reason why this should be treated as a personal issue." 

"But it _is_ a personal issue, is it not, Mr. Smith? Since walking into this cell, you have not looked me straight in the eye, and while I do not know your normal routine here, I suspect that it is unusual for any Seeker to enter a cell accompanied by two other Seekers, with his guards standing in the open doorway behind, their hands on their daggers. What makes you fear me, sir, and what makes the others here fearful of your presence?" 

The room was utterly still. Layle's guards, who were indeed touching their daggers, looked uneasy. Layle did not turn to look at them. After a moment, he said something soft that did not carry to Weldon's end of the cell. Layle's senior night guard promptly closed the door, staying outside – with his eye pressed to the watch-hole, no doubt. Weldon guessed that Layle had given the order, not to keep the guards out, but to ensure that no one else in the dungeon heard this part of the conversation. 

The High Seeker's gaze travelled, ever so slowly, until it met Birdesmond's eyes. All that Weldon could see from this distance was that Layle's eyes were dark within the holes of his hood. Then Layle said, in a deeper voice than before, "Nine years ago, I sexually assaulted a female prisoner." 

Weldon switched his gaze back to Birdesmond in time to see her suck in her breath. But there was no expression of shock on her face, nor any sign of fear. "I am sorry," she said quietly. "It was generous of you to agree to this interview." 

Layle nodded in acknowledgment of her remark. "I was generously dealt with at the time by those who decided my fate," he said. "As you can see, I was permitted to continue in my work, since it was believed that I could show greater control over myself with male prisoners than I had with my female prisoner. Female prisoners had long been a particular problem for me. Therefore, one of the conditions placed upon me for my continued employment was that I have no future contact with female prisoners, except with the Codifier's special permission. I fear that a female Seeker would cause . . . difficulties for me, Mistress Birdesmond." 

"I fail to understand." Mistress Birdesmond's voice was firm. "Nothing about my presence requires you to visit female prisoners after today, sir. Surely you cannot mean that you are unable to bear the presence of all women – you have hundreds of women working for you in this dungeon." 

"In the outer dungeon," Layle amended. "I do not visit the public portions of the outer dungeon, except when accompanied by my guards or by my fellow Seekers." 

"Mr. Chapman," Birdesmond said, turning to Weldon, "am I mistaken, or did you not say that cleaning women work in the inner dungeon?" 

Weldon confined himself to a nod. He had given up all attempts to keep his eye fixed upon Birdesmond; his gaze kept wandering back to the High Seeker. 

Layle said, "This is true. But none of the outer dungeon women who are employed to clean the inner dungeon have ever been a prisoner. I am afraid" – his voice grew softer – "that makes a great deal of difference to me." 

This time Weldon did not look at Birdesmond only because he could not bear to. After a minute, Birdesmond said quietly, "So you can work with women, but only if they have never been a prisoner here. And I thought I was being so clever in arranging this way to see you. Instead I was disqualifying myself completely from any hope of becoming a Seeker, wasn't I?" 

"Madam, I very much regret that I must impose this rule on myself and the dungeon." For the first time, something close to an emotion entered into Layle's voice. "There have been times when I have been tempted to lay it aside and to permit the employment of former female prisoners in the inner dungeon. But recent events have impressed upon me that my own health is intimately linked with the health of the Eternal Dungeon, and my mind's health requires—" 

"You need not speak further, sir." Birdesmond's voice was suddenly strong again. "If you were to assault a fellow Seeker, the Eternal Dungeon – and the prisoners – would lose your talents. I must admit to great disappointment at learning the consequences of my error, but that is of no matter. What matters is the prisoners' welfare, not my own." 

All was silent for a minute. No one moved or spoke – not the four persons in the room, nor the guards outside, who had been shifting in place a moment before. It was as though the cell had been suspended out of time, as the dead are suspended before their transformation into a new life. 

"I am glad to hear that you feel that way," Layle said, taking a step back. His voice was cool and polite. "Mr. Taylor?" 

Elsdon was already rapping on the door; it was opened promptly by the High Seeker's senior night guard. Layle swept out of the room. Elsdon paused only long enough to exchange a look with Weldon; then he stepped over the threshold, allowing the guards to close the door behind him. 

Birdesmond loosed her breath in one great, long sigh, as though she had been holding it through the entire interview. Weldon did not imitate her; his heart was pounding too hard to permit any loss of breath. "Well," he said, to gain time, "what will you do now?" 

Birdesmond took out her crumpled handkerchief, refolded it, and placed it back in her pocket before saying, "Emigrate." 

"Emigrate!" 

Birdesmond nodded. "I had already decided on that path if the High Seeker denied me again. There are other countries in the world where the _Code of Seeking_ is used, albeit in a form that seems to me to be inferior to that of the Eternal Dungeon. I will apply to those other dungeons for work." 

"But to leave your native land . . . Could you not be content with returning to Parkside Prison?" 

"No," Birdesmond said simply. "I could not." 

She turned to look at Weldon. In the flickering light from the fire behind the stones, Weldon could see that her eyelashes were covered with sparkling wetness, and he suspected that this was not due to the earlier tears. He said in an awkward manner, "Mistress Birdesmond, I would like to thank you for the help you have given to my—" He stopped; then, abandoning all pretense, he said, "The help you have given me." 

"What will you do?" Birdesmond asked quietly. 

He took a deep breath. "What I have done. Continue to work as a Seeker." 

"Despite the fact that your imprisonment here brings you deep pain?" 

"I have taken an oath to help the prisoners. I think you will understand . . ." He let his voice trail off, willing her to make the proper reply. 

"A Seeker must be willing to suffer for the prisoners," she said softly. "Yes. Even endless pain is worth it, to fulfill those words." 

Weldon said nothing. His ear was straining to hear the conversation taking place in the corridor, but the words outside had stopped. He was not surprised when, a moment later, the door opened, and Layle and Elsdon stepped inside once more. 

Birdesmond turned swiftly, her eyes widening and her hand going to her heart. It was an utterly feminine gesture, and Weldon cast a worried look at Layle. 

If Layle was affected by the sight before him, he gave no sign. "Mistress Birdesmond," he said, "the final decision is not mine, but I wish you to know that I plan to recommend to the Codifier and the Queen that you be accepted for training as a Seeker – under one condition." 

"Sir?" Birdesmond had turned pale again; her voice was breathless. 

"In the past, the Codifier has asked Mr. Taylor to serve as my chaperone when I felt need of his presence. I will ask that Mr. Taylor be assigned this duty again, and I will require, madam, that if you see me anywhere in the dungeon without my chaperone, you immediately call this fact to the attention of a guard. Under no circumstances are you to approach me if I am without escort. Are you willing to abide by this condition, until such time as I feel able to ask the Codifier to release me of my chaperone?" 

Birdesmond gave a shaky laugh. "Sir, if I saw you stalking toward me without anyone to restrain you, I would scream down the dungeon. But your health—" 

"Is a matter of grave concern to me and to others in this dungeon. However, I am equally concerned at finding qualified Seekers for the Eternal Dungeon. We are so short of Seekers at the moment that I cannot afford to turn aside a candidate who has proven herself to possess the quality we desire most in a Seeker." 

"And that quality is . . . ?" 

"You are willing to suffer for the prisoners." 

Layle's voice was soft. He held Birdesmond's gaze for a long moment as Birdesmond's mouth opened, no doubt to make further protests about the High Seeker's health. Then Layle's eyes turned as hard as a heavy lash, and Birdesmond shut her mouth abruptly. Weldon was glad to see that she had sense enough to know when she was defeated. 

Layle switched his gaze to Weldon. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Chapman. I would appreciate it if you would arrange for Mistress Birdesmond's release and see that she is placed in the guest apartment while she awaits the final decision." He nodded his farewell to Birdesmond, then turned and left the cell, followed by Elsdon. 

As the cell door shut, Weldon found he was cursing himself inwardly. 

Sweet blood, would he never learn? "Thank you for your assistance" indeed. Every word that had been spoken in this cell since the High Seeker's entrance, Weldon now realized, had been planned by Layle Smith. The High Seeker had suspected, from Weldon's testimony, that Birdesmond was qualified to be a Seeker, and he had arranged this conversation in such a manner that Birdesmond would be forced to indicate whether his suspicions were true. Even his confession about the assault, Weldon realized, had been planned. 

_You have not failed me, Mr. Chapman._ The words echoed in Weldon's head. Perhaps Layle had known from the first day he had the Record-keeper assign Weldon to Birdesmond that matters would end this way. Perhaps all the pain Weldon had undergone in this cell was part of Layle's plan to test the qualifications of Birdesmond. 

Perhaps. But he rather suspected that Layle had thought Weldon alone would be able to judge Birdesmond's qualifications, and that the strength of Birdesmond's abilities had taken Layle by surprise. And that too could be treated as proof that Mistress Birdesmond was qualified to be a Seeker. 

He looked over at Birdesmond, who was beginning to look thoughtful, as though she were tracing all of this in her own mind. Finally she turned her attention to him and said, "Well. So it is not farewell after all." 

"It seems that it is not." Weldon felt dizzy, as though he had watched a prisoner walk out of the dungeon and then turned to find her standing beside him. "Er . . . Welcome to the Eternal Dungeon." 

"I have not been accepted as a Seeker yet," Birdesmond reminded him. 

"No," Weldon agreed. "But the High Seeker would not have told you of his recommendation if he were not confident that it would be approved. At the very least, I believe it is safe to say that you will be given the opportunity to train here, and to prove whether you are qualified to take your oath of eternal confinement." 

"Mm." Birdesmond's eyes wandered away from him, considering the walls. "So six months from now, I could be a vowed Seeker. Tell me, Mr. Chapman, what was that you told me about Seekers being unable to marry? What was the reason again?" 

Weldon stared at her blankly. "Why, because Seekers cannot mate themselves with anyone who has not vowed—" 

He stopped, his breath shuddering as though he had been running through darkness for a long time and had suddenly reached a door. A smile curled onto Birdesmond's lips. 

He whispered, "But . . . I would not have you take me out of pity . . ." 

"Pity?" Birdesmond raised her eyebrows. "Mr. Chapman, have you been listening to nothing I have said this week? I was scorned by men who thought ill of me for my unwomanly desire to work with prisoners. Then I meet a man who not only fails to scorn me, but is actually willing to allow me to search him. Do you really think I would pair myself with such a man out of pity?" 

"I . . ." He released his breath and tried again. "I cannot love you. You know that." 

"Nor I you," Birdesmond replied calmly. "That is, if by 'love' you mean passion of the heart and body. But if you should mean a desire to join fortunes with one another and care for each other and perhaps raise a family together . . . I think that you will find we have enough love to permit that." 

Weldon licked his dry lips. "We will have to ask the Codifier if such a course would be permitted." 

Birdesmond's lips twitched into another smile. "Of course. But I wonder whether it has occurred to your Codifier that it could be useful to the High Seeker if his new female Seeker were not an unattached virgin, but instead someone's wife?" 

This time Weldon did not answer. His hand moved, as though of its own accord, toward Birdesmond's. Then he stopped himself quickly and stepped back. 

Fortunately, Birdesmond understood. "I'm still a prisoner," she observed. "You can't touch me." 

"No," responded Weldon. "So let us go and release you from your imprisonment, and then I will show you to your guest quarters, and then . . . Then I think I need to have a talk with the High Seeker. To see whether that cursed man planned this as well." His voice broke with frustration. 

Birdesmond laughed. "Very well," she said. "But be gentle on him, Mr. Chapman. He has already made a great sacrifice today for the Eternal Dungeon, much greater than I thought to ask of him. Do you know, I will look forward to working alongside him almost as much as I look forward to being with you?" And she walked to the door and then turned back, waiting for her new love. 

o—o—o   
o—o—o

. . . Therefore, we will never fully know what we owe the men who worked in the Eternal Dungeon, particularly those who were employed there before its transition into modern prison conditions. 

It has been stated by a careless historian, for example, that the greatest sacrifice made by male Seekers at the time of Layle Smith was their willingness to allow women to become prison workers, at a time when it was popularly thought that such employment would bring destruction to any prison or dungeon. That many of the Seekers – most notably Layle Smith – were required to sacrifice their prejudices and their personal comfort cannot be denied. Yet the historian who made the above statement failed to recognize the far greater sacrifice made by male Seekers who, until this time, had been deprived of intimacy with women. 

We know, from the surviving editions of the _Code of Seeking_ , that Seekers were not permitted to marry or to enter into more informal sexual arrangements with the women working in the outer portion of the dungeon. Some male Seekers, following long-time prison tradition, must have shared beds with one another. But this could not have been a satisfactory solution for all of the male Seekers, and when we think of how many Seekers over the decades were willing to remain celibate until the ends of their lives, we can imagine such men's relief when the Codifier ruled, at the time that the first female Seeker arrived, that male and female Seekers could enter into marriage with one another. 

To say this is not to downplay the sacrifice made by Seekers who initially opposed the appointment of women to the role of Seeker. Indeed, history tells us clearly that Layle Smith's personal fears on this matter were justified, and that his own sacrifice would be greater than that of any other Seeker. We may therefore regard Layle Smith, if not as the lone creator of transformation therapy, then as the Seeker who was most prepared to turn the principles of this therapy upon himself, thus making clear to the world the benefits of laying oneself open to the painful process of transformation. 

— _Psychologists with Whips: A History of the Eternal Dungeon._

**Author's Note:**

>  _Beta readers:_ [Kadymae](http://kadymae.livejournal.com/profile), [Maureen Lycaon](http://maureenlycaon-dw.dreamwidth.org/), and [Parhelion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/pseuds/Parhelion).
> 
> [Publication history](http://duskpeterson.com/cvhep.htm#deception).
> 
> This story was originally published at [duskpeterson.com](http://duskpeterson.com). The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright © 2003, 2009, 2010, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2016, 2020 Dusk Peterson. Permission is granted for fanworks inspired by this story. Please credit Dusk Peterson and duskpeterson.com for the original story.


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